


A Flower of a Thousand Petals

by theangryuniverse



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Geisha, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst with a Happy Ending, Danna, Discussion of Abortion, Don't copy to another site, Fluff and Smut, Gion - Freeform, Historical References, Japanese Culture, Kyoto, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Romantic Relationships, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Original Character(s), Pining Victor Nikiforov, Potential mpreg, Romance, Separations, Sex With Other People, Slow Burn, intersex omega
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:49:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22352098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangryuniverse/pseuds/theangryuniverse
Summary: Many years ago, Yuuri met a boy in the rain. A boy so beautiful that he never forgot his face.Many years later, he has become the most sought-after geisha in Gion, and to his feet, the most powerful men in the world. But inside his heart, there is only one for whom he longs.The only one he must never have.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri & Original Character(s), Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Phichit Chulanont/Christophe Giacometti
Comments: 95
Kudos: 245





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to "The Chairman's Waltz" from the Memoirs of a Geisha soundtrack and god, I was hooked. I have had this idea, a certain image, in my mind for some time. I hope that you will give it a try!
> 
> Please note the tags, relationships, and warnings. I have this story planned out rather roughly and I add things as I write. I will therefore update the tags and warnings on this fic if necessary. Therefore, I ask you to check the tags and warnings before each new chapter that I post. I mean it. If you don't like it, then don't read it. Don't yell at me in the comments for not warning you (if I forget, for some reason, then you may yell, of course). Thank you!
> 
> Now: Fasten your seatbelts, because you are in for a ride of mutual pining, forbidden love, and drama, drama, drama *throws glitter*

It begins with rain.

The rain is hitting his face and blinding him, blurring and obscuring his already poor eyesight. But Yuuri is running, feet soaked by the water flooding the streets. Everyone else has sought shelter, the streets are empty and the paper lanterns are shaking in the wind. Such weather is unusual, especially at this time of the year when the cherry blooms. Yuuri struggles to keep going, his straw sandals too slippery on the cobbled street. But he keeps going, his eyes squeezed shut as he runs.

Before he knows it, he has lost his way in the narrow streets of the hanamachi. It is a large area, and Yuuri has never been to this part before. He feels himself panic, his heart tightening in his chest. What if he never finds his way back again? He will be missed, that he knows, not so much for sentimental reasons but for what he is to the house, and for what he carries. Only then he realises in horror that the package in his arms is exposed to the rain, and he quickly stuffs it into his yukata.

The rain seems to become stronger by the minute, followed by the roll of thunder. Yuuri knows that he won’t make it home in such weather, and he looks around, desperately seeking a place to hide. He flees into a narrow alley and presses himself against the wall, clutching the package tightly against his chest.

A hand touches his arm, and Yuuri turns his head, just as he is pulled into the shed he is leaning against. The door closes behind him and Yuuri finds himself surrounded by darkness. It takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the dimmed light, and he sees that he is not alone.

There is a boy with him, a boy looking so extraordinary that Yuuri cannot help but stare. His eyes are blue like the sea sparkling in the sun, and his hair like the silver light of the moon. Yuuri has seen foreigners before, when accompanying Mother and others to the ochaya, but none of them has looked like this boy. So very extraordinary, so breathtakingly beautiful that it makes Yuuri’s young, tender heart ache.

The boy begins to speak, strange, rough sounds coming from his lips that Yuuri does not understand. But despite their brutal sound the boy sounds friendly, his eyes full of warmth and worry. He gestures at the door, at the heavy rain prattling against the walls, and Yuuri has never been happier to have escaped from the rain thanks to him.

He wants to thank the boy, but his voice is gone. He stares, and stares, and so does the boy.

Neither of them speaks, both at a loss for words. Yuuri has no idea where the boy is from, his clothing just as strange as the one of the other foreigners. He has heard English before, and French, too, but none of them has sounded so harsh like the words the boy has spoken. He seems older, too, older than the other foreign boys he has seen on the streets, at the side of their fathers. Yuuri does not like the foreigners that only come to point and stare, the ones who treat them as an exotic thing to look at. But this boy seems kind to Yuuri, for a reason he does not know, but he feels it. This boy is not here to point and stare.

But what is he here for, and on his own?

The boy is looking at him, smiling shyly, as if the entire situation is as awkward for him as it is for Yuuri.

It is a smile that lights up the darkness.

Yuuri does not know how long they stand together, but when the rain begins to lessen, the boy opens the door and holds out his hand, to see if the rain has stopped. He turns his head and smiles at Yuuri, a few more words coming from his lips, strange and foreign and so incredibly beautiful that Yuuri cannot help but stare.

But the rain has stopped, and it is time to go.

Yuuri slips out of the shed and bows to the boy before he begins to run. The package inside his yukata he presses close to his chest. And inside his chest, there is a young heart in turmoil.


	2. A Cherry Blooms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is set in the mid/late 1930s until 1950.

Yuuri knows that a story like his own should never be told.

For his world is as forbidden as it is tragic. There is truth in it, but it is concealed with flowers. It is hidden behind silk and powder, allowing not even as much as a glimpse of what lies beyond. But truth is not what they sell.

He is a geisha, and their art is one of illusion and enchantment.

Their customers don’t come for truth.

That he has learnt very early, the very first lesson taught to him once he had entered this peculiar life. What they come for is something they cannot find in their own lives. Most of them are trapped in one way or another, Minako has said to him, either in marriage or destiny. What they want from them is an escape from the reality that they so despise.

And so, they tell them the fairy tale they want. The story of a young omega boy that has escaped poverty and has become the most sought-after geisha in Gion. That it was dance and music that brought the smile back to his lip.

None of this is a lie.

But it is not Yuuri’s truth. For the sake of their world, they keep it a secret, and Yuuri has locked his past away in his heart a long time ago. It is the truth that they will never get to hear, so they can swoon over the fairy tale that he is to them. They want to see the enigma in him, so close and so very far from reach at the same time.

There is no place for the person behind the mask when they call for him.

And so, he dances, and he sings, and he entertains.

Whatever it is that they desire.

That is what makes money, and what has made Yuuri the most accomplished of them all.

He is reminded of it every time he kneels before the mirror in his room and puts on the make-up. It is his money that pays for it, just as it pays for the rice in his bowl, and for the sake that Minako likes so very much. It also pays for the fish the little girl sitting beside him has marvelled at. Not long ago, she has been new to this place, a fragile child, thin and hungry. Now she is his student, just as much as she is a servant, the very same that Yuuri once has been. She is attentive, watching him with intelligent eyes as he puts on the make-up, his movements skilled. This ritual has been part of his life for so long that it has become second nature to him. His hands seem to move on his own, and he could do it with his eyes closed if he wanted. But he keeps them open, following the movements of his hand through the mirror. With charcoal, he paints over his eyebrows in a fine, thin line. The red colour he puts on his lips is a little darker than the one most geisha use, but it has always served him well.

The doors slide open behind him and his dresser comes in. Old Nakamura is the only beta man allowed in the okiya, not only because of his occupation. The dresser of a geisha is often also a friend, and Nakamura is no exception. And although it is Minako that the old man is friends with, Yuuri enjoys his company, too.

Little Keiko moves aside, her small hands clutching her yukata and her eyes wide in awe as she watches how Yuuri transforms from a human into an enigma.

From Yuuri, to Chihoko.

Little Keiko is a smart girl, but she knows little of the world. She has taken a while to understand why the male geisha has a female name. But now she knows that Yuuri’s geisha name derives from Minako’s, who has been and will always be his Onee-san. She knows that male omegas receive female names just like everyone else, because of their status in society.

She also knows that Minako is terrible with names, and keeps calling him Yuuri. That is why at home, Yuuri is still Yuuri, and the name Chihoko is only ever used in public.

Keiko knows she will get a new name, too, once she is old enough to become a maiko.

Just like Yuuri, she will get to wear beautiful kimono. She will dance, and sing, and sleep long in the mornings.

Yuuri turns his head as he feels her stare, but otherwise remains still, as not to disturb Nakamura when he works. He smiles at the girl. “Do you have a question, Keiko-chan?”

The little girl hesitates. “There are so many kimono in the okiya,” she says. “Are they all yours?”

Yuuri chuckles, shaking his head. “No. They belong to the okiya. A kimono is very expensive, you see. From that amount of money, you could buy fish and rice every day for the rest of your life.”

Keiko’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“Really,” Yuuri confirms.

Layer after layer is put on him, and he feels himself become less of Yuuri and more of Chihoko with every step. The silk is soft on his skin, the embroidery a masterpiece. He knows what little Keiko feels when she looks at him, for he has felt the same at her age, watching Minako dress. It is a most magical transformation that happens every night when he goes out to his engagements, when he goes to present a fantasy for those that are willing to pay for it.

Nakamura steps back and Yuuri admires his work in the mirror, pleased with what he sees. He beckons Keiko to come closer so she can take a look, just as the doors open again. Minako eyes him, a cigarette between her slender fingers. She is dressed like Yuuri, her face painted and a heavy kimono around her fragile body.

“Always watch him closely, Keiko-chan,” she hums. “You can learn a lot from him.”

Yuuri turns around to his Onee-san, who is now Mother of the okiya, too, and smiles. “You are too kind.”

“I’m stating the truth,” Minako says. “We have to go. We must not be late.”

Yuuri nods. “But then again,” he says as he gathers his kimono and walks past Minako out of the room, “a geisha is never late. They are with whom the night begins.”

His words are directed at Keiko, and the girls knows it. She nods to show that she understands, and she gets up and follows close behind, her small footsteps happy sounds on the wooden floor.

It is in the genkan where she stops, watching as they perform a ritual for good luck, and for a successful night. And with that, the geishas named Minako and Chihoko disappear into the night.

They turn the heads of the men wherever they go at this time of day, but they are used to it. A good geisha, Minako has taught Yuuri and what Yuuri teaches Keiko, is so beautiful both inside and out that people cannot help but feel drawn to them. Especially alphas might lose their heads over a beautiful geisha, and it is no surprise that Yuuri receives several marriage proposals a week. Minako receives them, too, although she is already older and past the best age for childbearing, but her reputation speaks for her. Yuuri has often wondered in the past why Minako has turned them all down, but now, as an adult, he understands.

Minako would be a terrible wife.

Her life takes place in the hanamachi. The okiya is her palace, and the ochaya her throne room. This is what she knows, and what she is content with.

Yuuri has never wasted a single thought on what he is content with or what kind of life he wants to lead. He does not play with prospects of the future.

At the moment, he has none other but to make it through the night.

There are several ochaya in the hanamachi, but Minako and Yuuri tend to frequent only a small handful of them. Minako knows the owners well and appreciates their clientele – impolite, handsy alphas have no place there. They are a safe environment for both herself and for Yuuri who, as a rare, male omega, is naturally in the centre of their attention. They have nothing to worry about in the ochaya, especially not when they entertain together as a pair. They are famous for it, and when people talk about Minako, they talk about Chihoko, too, and the other way round.

The people that have booked the ochaya and, consequently, them, are business men from Tokyo looking for distraction. They bow their heads and smile as the geishas enter the room and take their seats beside them, their eyes looking at them expectantly. Some of them Minako and Yuuri have seen before, others have faces that are new to them, but to entertain them is a simple thing for them. Yuuri knows how to work with them. They are all the same type – if they are young, they are nervous in his presence, and thank him profusely for simple tasks such as pouring them a drink. They blush when Yuuri, who is Chihoko to them, laughs chastely at their jokes and shows great interest in their rather small career achievements. If they are older, however, it is a little different. They are confident in the presence of geisha, polite and generous, often making them gifts if they come to them for the second, third, or fourth time. Minako has taught Yuuri the art of exclaiming in the greatest surprise upon receiving a gift, such as a comb or a fan, which are the more traditional gifts. Yuuri has lots of them now, but every single time, he feigns the greatest happiness, only to cast down his eyes bashfully a moment later. That is what they like to see, and the very fantasy they like to indulge in. They want to be the one who makes him, the male omega, blush so very beautifully.

Tonight, it is a mix of both. Young and old business men sit on the tatami mats and look delighted at the company of the famous geishas. Yuuri and Minako take their seats and engage in polite conversation first. Fortunately, it is interesting, for they are in the garment trade and make their money in kimono. With geisha, they have found willing listeners, for there is hardly anyone more acquainted with kimono than a geisha. The young man besides Yuuri admires the pattern of his current kimono, and eagerly tells him about the design ideas he has had. Yuuri listens with genuine curiosity until it is time for some proper entertainment. Tonight, it is him who will dance, and Minako will play the shamisen. Her fingers dance over the strings as she plays, and Yuuri becomes one with the music. Dance has been his speciality from the very beginning. Minako had seen his talent right away, just like his teachers at the geisha school. Just like Minako, he had trained day and night to get to this level. Minako does not dance often anymore in front of guests, not since she sprained her ankle and never truly recovered from it. But she is proud of her student, of the perfect dancer.

The men are enchanted, and applaud loudly as the dance ends, now all of them eager to have the omega sitting beside them. This time, Yuuri moves to sit beside one of the older gentlemen.

“Your dancing is exquisite, Chihoko-chan,” he says warmly. “I would enjoy it very much to see you dance in one of our kimono some day.”

Yuuri smiles and inclines his head in gratitude. “I am the most grateful, Tanaka-san. I do not think we have one of your kimono in the collection of our okiya yet.”

“No?” Tanaka looks surprised. “Then we must see to it that this changes. How would you like it if I gave you one of your own choice from our current collection? And to your older sister, too?”

Both Yuuri and Minako bow their heads in deep gratitude.

“You are too kind, Tanaka-san,” Minako says. “How could we possible accept such an offer?”

“Oh, it would be a pleasure to give you kimono!” Tanaka laughs. “Our kimono are the finest you could possibly get. The best Japanese silk.”

“Indeed,” the man beside him says. “The Japanese make the best fabrics. Sadly, it seems that foreign products are beginning to flood the market. Dearest Minako, if a foreigner ever offers you a kimono of silk, do not buy it.”

Minako chuckles. “Of course, I won’t buy it. But I have heard of that, too. They are bringing British linen into Kyoto these days.”

“And not just that,” Tanaka said. “The Russians are selling fur. I have been speaking to a man called Yakov Feltsman on the telephone just this morning. I believe that we might be able to make business with them.”

“Are Russian furs of good quality?” Yuuri asked, pouring the man another glass of beer.

“My dear Chihoko,” Tanaka smiles, “the furs that the Feltsman company sells are of excellent quality. I have had the pleasure of receiving a sample a few days ago. The softest fur you have ever seen. I believe we might be able to make a lot of money if we collaborate with them. I have invited them to Kyoto for next month, and if everything goes well, our companies will collaborate and grow together.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Yuuri says. “I wish you the best of luck, Tanaka-san.”

“Thank you, Chihoko-chan,” Tanaka replies and clears his throat. “Say, Chihoko-chan… Minako-san… would you help us in this matter? It is hard to entertain those foreigners, and I know that both of you speak English. If we were to bring the foreigners with us to an evening here, would you help us seal the deal?”

Minako exchanges a brief look with Yuuri, so quick that the men don’t even notice.

“Of course we will have to check our calendar,” Minako says with a small bow of the head. “We are quite occupied, you see. It might be difficult to find a date.”

Tanaka nods vigorously. “I shall pay double if that is what it takes. And of course, I will make sure you will have your kimono until then. You might be our live mannequins that night!”

The men laugh at the thought, and so does Minako. Yuuri therefore knows he can chuckle, too.

“I will check our calendar and let you know, Tanaka-san,” Minako says, and the men raise their glasses.

Yuuri knows that it is a simple thing for Minako to find an empty space in their calendar – they are so popular that they can choose their customers freely, and Tanaka and his colleagues and friends are amongst the most important ones. They are pleasant company and their evenings with them never as tiresome as some others.

When they leave the ochaya two hours later, just before midnight, Yuuri has another gift in his hands. A beautiful comb ornamented with pearls. It means little to him.

“Tanaka is courting you, you know that, right?” Minako asks him as they sit on the rickshaw. “He either wants to propose marriage or become your _danna_.”

“I am aware,” Yuuri says, clasping his hands on top of the gift box. “I will not marry him.”

“Of course not,” Minako huffs. “But it would make sense for you to take a _danna._ It would help you greatly to pay your debt.”

Yuuri looks down at the gift box. “From one owner to the next,” he says. “That is what it is.”

Minako gives him a long, sympathetic look. “I don’t own you, Yuuri,” she says softly. “Your debt is not to me.”

“I know that,” Yuuri replies. “I belong to the okiya, and my debt is to Gion. Gion owns me. I don’t want another owner.”

Minako says nothing to that for a while, the only sound the one of the wheels on the cobbled street. When they arrive at the okiya and step into the genkan to take off their geta, Minako stops Yuuri just before the stairs.

“Give it a good thought, Yuuri,” she says. “A _danna_ could make things a lot easier for you.”

Yuuri nods, and ascends the stairs to his bedroom.

Little Keiko, who has stayed up to welcome them home, follows close behind.

* * *

In a study in St. Petersburg, a young man can barely believe his luck.

“Are you serious?” Victor asks excitedly, his hands grabbing the fabric of his trousers as he barely manages to remain seated. “They like them?”

“Didn’t you listen, Vitya?” Yakov, his uncle, huffs in slight annoyance. “Yes, they like them. The samples that you chose were the right ones. Mr. Tanaka called me just now. They want us to come to Japan and discuss further business with them.”

“That’s amazing!” Victor exclaims, falling back on his chair against the backrest. “Wait. When you say ‘us’—”

“Then I mean you and me,” Yakov says, becoming even more annoyed with his nephew. “Did you have too much to drink again or why do I have to repeat myself?”

“You want me to come to Japan with you?” Viktor stares at his uncle, his eyes wide as he realises what this means. What his uncle’s decision means for him in particular. There are many capable men, men with more experience, who have been working for a long time for their company who could come with Yakov to Japan.

But Yakov wants him to come.

There is hardly a greater sign of Yakov’s trust.

“Don’t let it get to your head, boy,” Yakov mutters, rising from his desk and dropping the reports into Viktor’s lap. “This will be a test for you, too. Show me what you are made of. I’m not making you the heir of my company for nothing.”

Viktor jumps from his chair, the files in one arm, and hugging his uncle with the other. “I won’t disappoint you!” He promises excitedly. “Thank you, Yakov! Thank you!”

“Good lord,” Yakov groans and endures the hug that thankfully ends a moment later. “Go and pack. We’ll leave in a week. The travel permits should be easy enough to obtain with Mikhail working at the offices…”

“I will!” Victor calls and almost dances out of the room in his uncle’s house, hugging the first servant girl he sees and almost throwing her down the stairs in his excitement. Makkachin joins him in his happiness, barking and jumping about as Victor pulls out his suitcase and begins to pack, thinking loudly about what he should pack.

“What do you think, Makka?” Victor asks his best friend, holding up two almost identical suits. “This one or this one here? What’s best for a trip to Japan?”

Makkachin tilts her head to the side, watching him curiously.

“You are right, they are both perfect,” Victor decides and puts them on his bed. “Ahhh, Makka, you have no idea how awesome this is! I didn’t think they would like the things I picked, but Yakov says they liked them very much! And you must know, Makka, it’s very hard to impress the Japanese, because they are so very proud of the silk they have. Which I understand, of course, but nothing keeps you as warm as good fur in winter! I mean, you must know, with that fur of yours that you wear in every weather.” He gives his dog a kiss and proceeds with packing.

“Japan is so far away,” he hums, “so I cannot take you with me.”

Makkachin promptly whines and looks at him with big eyes. Oh, Victor knows that she is far too intelligent for her own good.

“But aunt Lilia will take care of you!” Victor promises and hugs his dog immediately. “And I’ll come back!”

Makkachin whines nonetheless, and it takes Victor a while and several good cuddles before he can continue with his task. More and more clothes end up in his suitcase.

“I mean,” Victor says as he puts the socks into the suitcase and turns to his bookshelf to choose some reading material for the trip, “it’s not like I’ve never been there. When I was little, Makka, Yakov took me to Japan with him shortly after my parents died. You were not even born then, Makka! That’s how long ago that is. I was so scared. So many people were there, Makka, and I didn’t understand a word. Well, I still don’t speak Japanese but when you’re little, Makka, you feel really intimidated by everything. God, I remember when I got lost in Kyoto, and it began to rain and I went to hide in this shed…” He sighs, holding the books close to his chest as he remembers.

“There was this… this boy, Makka,” he murmurs, “he was outside of the shed, standing in the rain. He looked so scared of the lightning and thunder. I pulled him into the shed. We hid together in the darkness and I tried to talk to him, but of course, he wouldn’t understand me…” He sighs at the memory. The boy had been gorgeous. Even at such a young age, his heart had stirred at the other boy’s sight. He had been an omega. That much he had been able to smell. A male omega. Rare, and according to what he has heard, very valuable in those parts of the world. Even in Russia, Victor has only met a handful of male omegas.

What is it like in a country like Japan, he wonders?

“He was gorgeous, Makka,” Victor sighs and ruffles her fur. “But… I don’t think I’ll find him again. I mean, Japan is big. He probably is not in Kyoto anymore. I should focus on my task there, right? Work, and make Yakov proud. Just imagine that, Makka, our company collaborating with Tanaka!”

Makkachin barks in confirmation, and Victor laughs, knowing very well why she is his best friend. Makkachin simply gets it.

He manages to push the thoughts of the boy he met aside for the duration of dinner where his uncle tells Lilia about their plans. She is happy for them, and promises to take care of Makkachin, and warns Victor of misbehaving in the country of rituals and tradition. To stay disciplined, too. That has always been her mantra, and Victor knows that although it can sometimes be tiring, she is right.

“Also,” Yakov says over tea, “there will be other Europeans in Kyoto. We should keep an eye on those, too. In case they want to make business with Tanaka, too.”

“Do you think they will be competition for us?” Victor asks.

“Everyone is competition for us there,” Yakov huffs. “Don’t think they’ll be nice to us just because we’re foreigners there just like them. It’s eat or be eaten.”

“Your uncle likes to exaggerate,” Lilia remarks dryly. “Try to make friends, too, Vitya. Maybe you can find a Japanese tutor.”

 _Maybe I will find the boy from the rain_ , Victor thinks, but does not say it out loud. A Japanese tutor does not sound like a bad idea, however. If they are to collaborate with Tanaka, it will come in handy.

It is like this that he finds himself on a small plane to China a few days later, from where they will take a ship to Japan.

Victor is far away from home now, but he has never felt more alive. It is his chance to prove himself, to show his uncle what he is made of – that he is worthy to take over the company one day.

Yakov sees the change in him, too.

“Your father would be proud of you,” he tells him over dinner in their small cabin. They have been served rice, fish, and some vegetables that neither of them recognise, but it tastes good. “He always hoped you would take an interest in the family business.”

Victor blushes, his heart aching a little in his chest. It always happens when people tell him of his father. “I don’t want to disappoint him.”

“Your father is dead,” Yakov says, his voice surprisingly gently. “You cannot disappoint him anymore. But what you do honours his memory. And your mother’s, too.”

Victor sighs and puts down the chopsticks he is still struggling with. “I know that nothing that I do changes what has happened,” he says. “They will never get to see what I’m doing. But I want to keep their legacy alive.”

“Your mother has raised you well in the few years that she had with you,” Yakov says.

Victor smiles a little.

* * *

An okiya is bastion of beauty, grace, and elegance.

Naturally, an alpha has no place in it.

That does not stop some alphas, however, to come to the gates of an okiya in broad daylight to ask for one of the geisha living there – just for a minute of their time, because that is enough for what they want to say, and it is always the same.

Hence, no alpha is ever let in, and they are always sent away. It is not the first time that Yuuri watches from the small window as Aunty tells an alpha to leave. This time, it is one that Yuuri barely recognises, a young man he has entertained once or twice. He looks desperate and begs Aunty to let him speak to Yuuri, that much he can hear, but Aunty is stern, as always, an unmovable force, like the gatekeeper of Heaven.

Disappointed, the young man walks away, sobbing into a handkerchief.

Yuuri turns away from the window, taking a sip from his cup of tea. It has gone cold rather quickly and tastes bitter, but Yuuri drinks it anyway. He does not like to let things go to waste.

He pities the alpha just a little bit. It must be hard to be in love with someone you cannot reach.

“Once again, Keiko,” he says to the little girl kneeling on the tatami mats. “That’s not how you clean a brush.”

Keiko nods, not at all ashamed of her mistake because she knows she won’t be scolded for little things. She starts again, under the ever-watchful eyes of the geisha, cleaning the make-up brushes in the warm water. Her little fingers are clumsy, but she is a quick learner, and she already does it better than the first time. She is careful. Eager to please.

She is a good candidate, Yuuri thinks.

“That is better,” he praises her and sits down beside her to inspect the brush. “Now I can use it again. Thank you.”

Keiko smiles happily at the praise and puts the brush on the towel to dry.

“This is important work,” Yuuri says. “These brushes are a very important tool for a geisha. It took me very long to learn how to clean Mother’s brushes.”

“You did this, too?” Keiko asks with wide eyes.

Yuuri nods. “I was a servant just like you. Every day I cleaned and helped with the cooking and carried things. I did just the same things that you do.”

“But…” It all seems too much for little Keiko to grasp. No surprise, Yuuri thinks, for she is only nine or ten years old. “But you are a geisha!”

“I am one now,” Yuuri confirms and pats her head. “But when I came to this place, I was just like you. But you are much more skilful.”

“Really?!” Keiko gasps.

“Really,” Yuuri says and rises again. “Keep cleaning the brushes, yes?”

She nods eagerly and begins to focus on her work again, her little forehead a frown as she works with determination. Yuuri chuckles and walks out of the room, readjusting the yukata he is wearing as he descends the narrow, wooden stairs and makes his way to Mother’s room.

Aunty is with Minako as Yuuri enters, Minako looking through the books whilst Aunty pours them tea.

“What did he want?” Yuuri asks, out of sheer politeness only.

As if they all didn’t know very well what the alpha wanted.

“Marry you, of course,” Aunty says with a chuckle and shakes her head. “Believe me, they are becoming bolder every time. He even asked to be let up into your chamber.”

“Ha,” Minako says, raising an eyebrow. “They lose all self-respect they have left when a male omega is involved, it seems.”

“Indeed,” Aunty confirms and pushes a cup towards Yuuri, and another towards Minako. Her tea is the best, Yuuri thinks again as he takes a sip. Her customers had known that, too, and had always wanted her to do the tea ceremony. Those days are long gone now, with Aunty almost sixty and a bad hip, but she is still devoted to the okiya, and to Minako.

Despite the fact that Minako is at least twenty years younger.

Nonetheless, Minako was the one to inherit the okiya from Grandmother. Now Minako is the Mother of the house, the one in charge, and technically the one who owns Yuuri. They never speak about that.

“What is your opinion about Keiko, Yuuri?” Minako asks after taking a sip from her own tea. “Is she worth my salt?”

Yuuri hums thoughtfully. “She is smart,” he replies. “Skilful hands she has. A little clumsy, perhaps, but she has a certain grace.”

“I agree,” Minako hums, and Yuuri is not surprised that she, the grand dame of dance, has noticed it, too. “So you say she is worth the investment?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Good,” Minako says, making a note in the book.

Aunty looks intrigued. “To the geisha school with her, then?” She asks curiously.

“No, to the distillery,” Minako replies dryly. “Of course to the geisha school. I have not taken in this little girl for nothing. Yuuri, I know this is far too early to ask, but would you consider her as your protégée in the future? I know you have never been the elder sister of a maiko. But Keiko likes you very much already.”

“I will think about it,” Yuuri promises. It will be at least another five or six years until Keiko is old enough to become an actual maiko, but Yuuri has no doubt he will still be in the okiya then.

His debt is too great to be paid off anytime soon, and with every bowl of rice that he eats and with every cup of tea that he drinks, he adds to it.

Minako does what she can to help.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Minako says and reaches for the calendar. “Also, I have been speaking to Tanaka. We will entertain them and their Russian guests when they arrive. The kimono he has promised should arrive within the next week or so. I suggest you brush up your English. I still have the books somewhere.”

“I hear that Tanaka is courting you?” Aunty asks curiously and looks at Yuuri, but Minako only huffs.

“As if our Yuuri would ever think of considering Tanaka for anything.”

“But he would be a good choice for a _danna_ , wouldn’t he?” Aunty inquires. “Back in my day, a geisha had little choice in the matter. I never had the offer of a _danna_ , but I am sure that Grandmother would have insisted on me accepting.”

“How fortunate that we live in different times and that Grandmother has her head in the clouds most of the time,” Yuuri says with a polite smile and rises from the tatami mat again. “I will tell Keiko to bring Grandmother her dinner.”

“Good,” Minako mutters. “Before the old toad starts to croak again.”

“Mother!” Aunty sighs.

“What?”

Yuuri goes back upstairs where Keiko is still diligently cleaning his brushes. She has done well, he notes as he inspects the rest of his utensils. She will be a good student.

Little Keiko watches him carefully, waiting for his judgement.

“Well done, Keiko,” Yuuri says and pats her head. “Now put them away.”

Keiko beams and nods, putting the brushes back into the box and cleaning up the remaining mess on Yuuri’s vanity. Yuuri lets her do her work and searches through the small stack of books he owns for the English books Minako had been talking about.

“I have news for you, Keiko,” he says casually as he finds the book and flips through its pages. He turns around to her, and sees that the girl has paused and is looking at him in childlike confusion.

“Mother has decided to send you to school,” Yuuri says. “You will start there in a few days.”

Keiko blinks and stares at him, not understanding, as Yuuri realises a moment later.

“The geisha school, Keiko,” he clarifies. “Mother is sending you to school to become a geisha.”

Keiko still stares at him, her brown eyes wide, until she suddenly seems to shrink on the very spot where she stands.

Yuuri frowns. “What is it?” He asks, in his voice concern but also the strictness that he has to show with her. He likes Keiko, but she is not his daughter. He is her teacher, and the geisha of the house.

“I know the thought is rather intimidating,” Yuuri says, after all, feeling for the girl that stands in the very same spot where he used to be, many years ago. “But it is a great honour for you. And a great sign of trust by Mother. If you work hard, you will achieve greatness. Do you understand?”

Keiko nods.

“Now go and bring Grandmother her dinner,” Yuuri says and nods at the door. “We’ll speak about everything else tomorrow. I have to study now. Don’t disturb me, please.”

Keiko bows deeply to him and then rushes out of the room to do as she has been told. Yuuri knows very well what is going through her head in this moment. He has been in the same situation, many years ago, and it had been Minako to tell him all this.

But Keiko has it better than him, he thinks as he sits down and opens the book on his lap. Her debt will never be as high as his. If she does well, she will be free before she reaches the age of twenty.

Yuuri pushes the thought aside and begins to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. A geisha takes her name from her "older sister", aka the geisha that is her patron and supports her during her time as a maiko. In her name, she has a part of her sister's name, hence Minako --> Chihoko.  
> 2\. A "danna" is the patron of a geisha. It is a business arrangement. A danna and a geisha may or may not be in love, but a sexual relationship is not a requirement.
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	3. A Most Beautiful Pearl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!  
> Thank you for all your comments and kudos! They mean so much to me.
> 
> Once more, I ask you to first check the tags and warnings before you proceed.  
> Also, although I want to be historically accurate, I also take some liberties since this is omegaverse.  
> And no matter what you read in this fic: this is Victuuri. And slow burn. They will lust after each other like crazy. I promise ;-)

The streets of Gion are bustling with life on this particular spring morning on which Yuuri takes little Keiko to school for the very first time. He knows that she is nervous, her little hand tightly onto his own as he walks with her. A few days ago, they have picked up her school uniform together – a simple cotton yukata with the checked black and white pattern that will from now on symbolise her status as a student of the prestigious geisha school. Now she is wearing it, and Yuuri cannot help but feel a little proud of her. More than ten years ago, he has been in her shoes, has been in the very same situation. Minako has been the one back then to walk him to school for the first time. He only remembers too well how nervous he has been that day. The gates of the school have looked imposing and scary to him, and he has no doubt that little Keiko will feel the same. But just like Minako has been there for him, he is there for her, and will guide her on her first day of her new future.

Many people greet them on their way through the streets of Gion. Those who bow the lowest to him are the _maiko_ , the teenagers that are geisha-in-training and on the way to school themselves. All of them are girls, betas and omegas. Yuuri knows he is famous not only because of his skill – and he knows it is true that he is indeed the best dancer of them all – but because he is a rare male omega. He has heard of another male geisha from Tokyo, and he knows there were others before him in Gion, all of them now gone, having disappeared into marriage. It is a simple thing for his kind to find suitable husbands. Alphas desire omegas like him the most.

For now, and for as far as Yuuri allows himself to see into the future, marriage is entirely out of the question.

Yuuri greets the people he knows with a small bow of himself and with a small smile, but he cannot stop this morning for more than just two or three conversations. A geisha of Minako’s generation runs into them on the bridge, smiling down at Keiko with motherly affection and wishing her the best of luck for her first day at school. Keiko thanks her shyly and then buries her face in Yuuri’s hip, much to everyone’s delight. Yuuri does not mind that little Keiko is shy. It might become her greatest asset in her future career, for Yuuri knows how much a shy maiko delights their customers.

They have many fantasies indeed.

The school is roughly ten minutes away from their okiya, on the other side of the bridge. Yuuri knows the way by heart, has walked it for many years during his time as a student. To walk it again with little Keiko is a pleasant experience, even if the girl is so nervous that she cannot even speak. Usually, she is quite the little chatterbox when she is with Yuuri, because she likes him and he is nice to her. But Yuuri cannot blame her, truly. For a little girl, such an event is a big step.

As the gates of the school come into view, Keiko tenses beside him, but Yuuri gives her a squeeze of the hand and keeps going. Together, they ascend the stairs and enter the school’s courtyard where students are already running around on their way to class. They bow to Yuuri as he walks past them, all of them recognising him as the famous geisha from the Okukawa okiya. All of them want to catch a glimpse, but Yuuri keeps looking ahead, taking his little protégée down the hallways of his past and to her very first lesson.

The teacher is still the same, a middle-aged woman with her hair in a tight bun and attentive, grey eyes. They bow to each other in greeting, Yuuri bowing lower than she does, out of respect and gratitude for the training she has given him.

“I bring to you the hope of our okiya, sensei,” he says to his former teacher. “Her name is Keiko.”

Keiko is like a shy deer, barely able to look at the woman, let alone move as she is being looked up and down by the teacher.

“She is a girl of little talent,” Yuuri says in the usual humble way. “But we hope that with your help, she will be able to learn.”

His teacher nods. “We will teach her as best as we can,” she says. Yuuri then pats Keiko’s head and guides her into the classroom where other girls her age are already sitting, the shamisen on their laps and tuning them for the lesson.

“Aunty will come and pick you up after your lessons, right at the gate,” he tells her and Keiko looks at him, frightened of being left behind in this, new strange environment. Yuuri smiles at her. “You will find many new friends here,” he promises. “And you will have a lot of fun.”

Keiko nods shyly, and Yuuri gives her a little kiss to the forehead. He usually does not show this kind of affection, especially not in public, but it is what Minako has done for him, too. After that, he had felt safer.

It seems to work with Keiko, too. She smiles at him and then takes her place beside the other girls, unpacking her shamisen from the cloth it has been wrapped into.

Yuuri thanks the teacher once more before he makes his way out of the school again and back into the streets of Gion. The cool air of spring feels soothing on his face, and the walk home helps with the strange feeling he has in his lower stomach.

Yuuri knows that his body could not care less about the fact that he is a geisha – and that his body’s nature is entirely out of place in his rather peculiar life. But like any other omega, he experiences the burning and the pain during his fertile days. The remedy is clear, but impossible for him.

The only thing that Yuuri can rely on is the fact that his body is like clockwork. He always bleeds exactly fourteen days after his fertile days, and his fertile days always come fifteen days after his period has begun. It allows him and Minako to plan accordingly. During his fertile days and whilst bleeding, he stays at home and does not see any customers. It is a reality for any omega geisha, and no customer ever questions it.

There are worse fates than being a male omega, Yuuri thinks to himself.

The okiya is quiet as he comes home. The radio in Minako’s room is on, however, and Yuuri goes to see her. She has her account books lying open on the table and chews on the end of her pipe, something she always does while working. Minako is good with numbers and knows how to spend money wisely. Thanks to her help, Yuuri has been able to pay back a considerable amount of his debt already, but it is still high. Grandmother Okukawa had been forced to take out a loan in order to afford the purchase of Yuuri all those years ago. That is now Yuuri’s debt, and until he has paid it back, he belongs to Gion.

Minako has since then taken over the okiya, and officially owns Yuuri. She never treats him like that, and has been his onee-san and mother ever since. She is kind, and helps Yuuri wherever she can, and Yuuri loves her deeply for it.

“Keiko is at school?” Minako asks as he comes in, looking up for a brief moment.

“Yes,” Yuuri says and sits down on the other side of her table, pouring Minako a cup of tea first and then one for himself. “She was rather nervous. But I’m sure she will do well.”

“Let’s hope so,” Minako replies and makes a little note in her account books. “The school is expensive enough.” She picks up the cup and takes a small sip, studying Yuuri through her glasses that she wears when she has to read. Yuuri has always found that she looks more like a secretary than a geisha when she works.

“Are you well?” She asks him. “Your face is a little red.”

Yuuri shrugs, taking a sip of the tea. “My fertile days are approaching,” he tells her quite openly. Minako nods understandingly. They have never been shy towards each other in any regard. In fact, it is Minako who knows him best in both soul and body, having been there when he bled for the first time.

“Is there anything you need from the pharmacy?” She asks. “Aunty is going in a while.”

But Yuuri shakes his head. “I don’t need anything.”

They are silent for a while, the radio playing music from America in the background as Minako does her calculations and Yuuri sips his tea whilst browsing the newspaper.

“You know,” Minako says after a while. “It is not going to become better.”

“I know that,” Yuuri murmurs, turning the page.

“I just want the best for you.” Minako takes off her glasses and Yuuri looks up. “There wouldn’t be any shame in taking a _danna_ in order to help you.”

“I know that there is no shame in it,” Yuuri replies. “I just don’t… I don’t know if that is the right way.”

“You are worried about losing your independence,” Minako says, once more showing how well she knows her protégée.

“I do not have that kind of independence, anyway,” Yuuri says, and Minako does not comment on that, knowing that he does not mean it in a bad way. She is not to blame for his debt, and Yuuri has never complained about his life. “But having a _danna_ means to have a lot of responsibility. I don’t want to give anyone false hopes.”

Minako sighs softly and puts on her glasses again.

“I do understand,” she says. “But I still think you should give it a good thought. Your condition will not become better. Aunty was never fortunate enough to have a _danna_ to take care of her in her fertile years. She suffered a lot.”

“I know that it won’t become better,” Yuuri sighs. “Please, Minako…”

“I won’t tell you what to do,” Minako assures him and picks up her pipe again. “I just worry about you.”

“And I’m very grateful for that,” Yuuri assures her and rises from the table. “I’ll lie down for a little longer. Let me know when Keiko comes back?”

“I will,” Minako hums and focuses on her account books again as Yuuri leaves her room.

Upstairs, in his own bedroom, he lies down on the futon again and closes his eyes, his hands resting on his belly. The burning is already there, barely noticeable so far, but it will become stronger soon. He hopes that Keiko will be spared from this, that she will be a beta. It looks like it, anyway. She will have it easy then, he thinks as he rolls over to lie on his side and buries his face in the pillow. Easier than him, at least.

He sighs and drifts off to sleep, to get at least some more rest before the evening.

Another night of dancing and entertaining.

* * *

Japan welcomes them with gorgeous weather.

The rickshaw that they are sitting on is going fast through the streets of Kyoto, and both Victor and Yakov have to hold on tightly in order to not fall off. But Victor cannot stop staring, not sure where to look first, turning his head left and right to take it all in. Kyoto is just as he remembers it, and completely different at the same time. The wooden houses, the stunning temples, the many people in their clothing so very different from their own. Oh, he will enjoy it here, he just knows it.

Beside him, Yakov looks even angrier than usual, but Victor knows that his uncle is just tired from the long journey.

Their business partner here, Hideo Tanaka, has arranged rooms for them in a beautiful part of Kyoto – with European beds, they have been assured, and Victor is glad, because Yakov has always had problems with his back. A futon would not exactly improve his already bad mood.

The rickshaw finally stops in front of a pretty house where a woman is waiting for them, her smile kind and her eyes warm as she bows to them. Victor bows to her in return, much to the woman’s delight, and she babbles away happily in the most adorable Japanese as she shows them to their rooms. The driver of the rickshaw carries their bags up for them, but as Victor wants to pay him, the man refuses and shakes his head before he disappears again.

They are indeed in a different country, Victor thinks.

Their landlady leaves them and Yakov lies down on his bed with a groan. “Finally,” he sighs.

“Do you want to go to sleep?” Victor asks his uncle and earns a stare in return.

“Yes,” he states. “I have not slept properly in days.”

“Oh.” Victor says a little deflated. “I thought we would go out.”

“You can go out if you want,” Yakov says with a wave of his hand. “Just don’t bring disgrace over Russia.”

“You don’t mind if I go out without you?” Victor asks in surprise, already reaching for his purse that he has filled with Japanese money.

“Did I fucking stutter?”

It is like this that Victor finds himself in the midst of Kyoto a while later, smiling happily like a child as he walks through the streets. There is so much to see that Victor does not even know where to begin. But he knows that he has more than enough time to explore the whole city. If everything goes well, they will be staying in Kyoto for at least a few weeks.

Victor already regrets that he has left his camera in their rooms. He already sees so many things he wants to photograph – the red bridge he has just crossed, the ducklings in the river, the woman selling what seems to be octopus. Takoyaki, if he remembers correctly.

There are children carrying around things far too big for them, children chasing each other, children everywhere, really, either working or just having fun. There are women in gorgeous clothing, doing shopping and chatting with each other. Merchants, pushing carts with their goods through the narrow streets.

And there are voices. So many voices.

The Japanese language is an enigma to him. Victor does not speak a word of it besides the usual polite words and phrases that they will need. But if they are to stay longer in Kyoto, he will follow Yakov’s advice and search for a tutor to teach him the language. However, the sight of the letters alone makes Victor dread the effort.

How could anyone possibly tell all of them apart?

He lets his feet take him down the main road into smaller alleys, looking here and there, until he realises that he has lost his way. No matter how many corners he turns at, he cannot find the street where he has come from. Frustrated, he realises that he cannot even ask for the way home, sure that none of these people speak a word of English, let alone Russian.

“I’m so sorry! Sumimasen!” Victor calls out as he accidentally bumps into an elderly woman, almost knocking her over. She looks at him with wide eyes and then just walks away, shaking her head. The other people on the street are looking at him, their expressions unreadable to him, but no one approaches him.

“Are you going to stand in the middle of the road forever, my friend?”

Victor turns around.

A young man stands on the other side of the road, watching him in open amusement. He is tall, with blonde hair that is dark and cut short on the sides, and with the most gorgeous green eyes that Victor has ever seen. He wears a suit, just like him, and is clearly not Japanese either. He speaks English, accentuated, but clear.

Victor only then realises that he is indeed being the one foreigner blocking the road for everyone. The other man laughs as Victor stumbles out of the way and to his side of the road, and pulls Victor out of the way for good, calling a few words at the people around them in what appears to Victor is perfect Japanese.

“You are new to Kyoto, it seems?” The other foreigner asks him. “Lesson number one. Never stand in the middle of the street if you don’t want to get run over by a cart.”

Victor chuckles nervously, scratching the back of his head. “Thank you,” he says. “And yes, I’m new to Kyoto. Arrived just today.”

“I thought so,” the man says and extends his hand. “I’m Christophe Giacometti. Nice to meet you.”

“Victor Nikiforov,” Victor says and shakes the hand he has been offered. “Are you Italian, then?”

“Swiss,” Christophe says casually. “Your name sounds Russian.”

“Indeed,” Victor confirms. “I didn’t think I would run into another foreigner so early.”

“Oh, there is quite a handful of us here,” Christophe tells him. “But mostly the British, and I cannot stand them.” He glances at his wristwatch. “I’m rather sure it is about to rain, my dear Russian friend. Would you like to join me for a bite to eat? I know a charming little restaurant just around the corner.”

“Yes, of course!” Victor says, glad to have found someone to talk to.

Christophe laughs as they begin to walk. “Kyoto really is a world of its own,” he says. “On my first day here, I got lost, too. But now I can find my way to university with my eyes closed.”

“Oh, you are a student, Christophe?” Victor asks curiously.

“Medicine,” Christophe says. “And please, call me Chris.”

They reach the restaurant Chris has been talking about just a minute later. It is small and traditional, filled with Japanese people, but Chris is greeted by them with friendly hums and nods as they enter. He seems to be a regular customer.

“Chris!” A young man calls as he walks over to them. He clearly is not Japanese, even Victor can tell that, for his skin is too dark and his facial features too different. But his smile is wide and genuine. “Futari?” He asks.

“Futari,” Chris confirms, and they are taken to a table in the corner where it is a little less busy. Victor can only sit there and listen in awe as his new friend orders for them god knows what. The waiter smiles at them and practically dances away.

“He’s sweet,” Victor says.

“Oh, that’s Phichit,” Chris tells him. “From Thailand, originally. I ordered us some miso soup, rice, and vegetables with fish. I hope that’s alright.”

“Absolutely,” Victor assures him, just as Phichit returns with two cups and a pot of tea. He exchanges a few words with Chris, and the men laugh, and Victor feels very stupid.

“He asked if your hair is real,” Chris says, and Phichit looks at Victor curiously.

“My hair?” Victor reaches up to touch his silver hair, and Phichit giggles. “Uh, yes, it’s real.”

Chris tells Phichit, and the young man’s eyes widen. “Eh? Honto?!”

“He can’t believe it,” Chris chuckled.

Victor laughs. “Do you want to touch it?” He asks the waiter, who fortunately understands, and reaches out to touch Victor’s silver strands.

“Kirei…” Phichit whispers. He then smiles again and continues to pour them a drink before disappearing towards the kitchen again.

“He’s a sweet one,” Chris says wistfully.

“Is he the reason why you come here?” Victor asks with a knowing smile.

“Maybe,” Chris answers nonchalantly and picks up his cup of tea. “Kampai.”

“What?”

“That’s ‘cheers’ in Japanese,” Chris says. “Usually only said when you drink alcohol but I take it you need some help in Japanese etiquette anyway.”

“Oh yes,” Victor sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This country is a minefield.”

“Oh, it’s not so hard,” Chris assures him. “As foreigners, we can allow ourselves to make some mistakes. You will see that the Japanese are rather patient with us.”

“I hope so,” Victor murmurs. “My uncle and I are here for business.”

“Then I take it the people you are doing business with are able to speak English or Russian?”

“English, yes,” Victor says. “Still, I don’t want to behave like an idiot. I need to show my uncle that he can trust me.”

“Sounds like a lot of pressure.”

“Yep.”

Phichit returns with their food, placing small bowls of rice, fish, soup, and vegetables before them. Victor thanks him in Japanese, and Phichit laughs. “Kanpeki!”

“He says ‘perfect’”, Chris explains and picks up the chopsticks. “Do you know how to eat with those?”

As it turns out, Victor does not, and it amuses the entire restaurant. With Chris’ and Phichit’s help, he learns how to take the chopsticks into his hand and then starts to practise, picking up larger pieces like pickles first. His attempts are failures at first, but as it turns out, it is just a question of practise. The entire restaurant cheers as he manages to transport the rice from the bowl into his mouth, and he understands what Chris means when he talks about the Japanese. They are indeed a friendly bunch.

“So,” Victor says when they have finished their meal and only have their tea left. “For how long have you been here?”

“About a year now,” Chris answers. “And I’ll stay for at least another. I like it here, actually. Maybe I’ll start working here as a doctor once I get my degree. The Japanese are really interested in Western medicine, you know.” He sips his tea. “How about you? For how long will you stay?”

Victor shrugs. “I have no idea, to be honest,” he says. “For at least a few weeks. It depends on how well the negotiations will go with our partners. We’ll meet them soon in a, what is it called… a tea house?”

“Oh, you mean an ochaya,” Chris nods, knowing what he means. “In Gion?”

“How did you know?” Victor frowns.

Chris chuckles. “The best ochaya are in Gion. If a business partner takes you there, it means that they are serious about it.”

“Oh,” Victor says, impressed. “That’s good to know. Oh, and we will see, what are they called… geisha?”

Chris begins to smile even more. “Oh, my friend,” he says and takes another sip from his tea. “You are in for a treat.”

“I am?” Victor asks. “Because I have no idea what a geisha is.”

Chris laughs. “Oh, then you are definitely in for a treat,” he says. “Okay, so. Geisha are entertainers. Beta and omega women, usually, who dance, sing, play music. They are a national treasure and _incredibly expensive_ to hire. Especially the male ones. God, the male ones…” He sighs dreamily.

Victor blinks. “They…” He leans forward. “Are they prostitutes?”

“What?” Chris almost shrieks. “No! God, no, and if you know what’s good for you, don’t ever say that again. That is the greatest insult for a geisha.”

“I won’t, I won’t, I promise!” Victor says quickly and raises his hands in defence. “So they are entertainers, yes?”

“The best entertainers you have ever seen,” Chris says. “And incredibly beautiful. You might see them around here, especially at night when they are on the way to an engagement. They are the ones in the gorgeous kimono and the painted faces. God, you are so lucky, my friend. I could never afford the company of an actual geisha.” He leans back on his seat. “But Phichit here gets it for free.”

“How so?”

“He’s friends with a geisha,” Chris says with a pout. “But he won’t tell me with which one.” He glances at Phichit, who is currently serving other customers. “I bet it’s a famous one.”

“So there are famous geisha?” Victor asks, curious to learn more about this world that is so different from his own.

“Yep,” Chris says. “There are okiya – the houses where geisha live, places where no alphas are allowed, naturally – that are more famous than others. There is the Ishikawa okiya, for example, where Aiko lives. Or the Okukawa okiya with Minako and Chihoko. God, what I would give to spend just ten minutes in the company of Chihoko.”

Victor chuckles at the expression that appears on the face of his new friend. “Is she that pretty?”

Chris gives him a look. “ _He_ is gorgeous, judging from the posters I saw when he had the leading role in the autumn dances last year. But his company is incredibly expensive, naturally. Anyway, you have something to look forward to, my friend. Geisha are great company. Their skills are beyond compare.”

Victor nods. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

They finish their tea and leave their money at the table, Phichit thanking them profusely as they walk out of the door. Chris waves at the young man, who giggles and hides his face for a moment behind the tray he carries.

“You are quite smitten with him, eh?” Victor asks, now sure that he and Chris will be excellent friends.

“My dear Victor,” Chris says and puts an arm around him like a brother, “Phichit is my sun on a rainy day.”

* * *

On the days when Yuuri does not come down for breakfast, he is to be left alone. That is the very first lesson they have taught Keiko, and she has kept it in mind ever since. She does not know yet why Yuuri does not come down for breakfast sometimes, but she does not ask questions. That is the second thing she has learnt, to do as she is told without asking questions. Questions are for later, she has been told, when she is older.

Yuuri is glad he does not have to explain anything to Keiko yet, and that she follows the orders to not enter his room but leave the food outside his door. For he feels miserable enough, and he does not want the girl to see him like this, at least not yet. His face is red and glistening with sweat. Most of the time, he tries to sleep through it, but the burning is ever present in his lower belly and demands to be paid attention to. Yuuri ignores it as best as he can. Every now and then, he allows his hand to slip between his legs to satisfy his desire. It helps a little, but not much. He knows what would help, but he is hesitant.

Has always been hesitant.

But Minako is right, and Yuuri knows it. He is a young omega, twenty years old and at the best age for bearing children. His body does not care that he is a geisha and that he does not have an alpha to satisfy his needs. Over the years, the burning and the desire will only become worse, and he will suffer, every month, until he stops bleeding, until his fertile years are over. Or until he marries.

Whatever happens first.

But marriage is out of the question for him so far. Not that he lacks the offers. But a geisha in debt cannot marry. No, the debt has to be paid first, and no geisha with at least some self-respect would marry in order to escape it. Or let a customer pay their debt. No, Yuuri will pay his debt himself, with the money he has earned through dancing, singing, and entertaining.

He sleeps some more, but the thought stays in his head. A _danna,_ Yuuri thinks as he touches himself and moans softly into his pillow, would soothe the burning desire. An alpha’s or beta’s touch would take away the pain, improve his health. He wouldn’t have to lock himself away for two or three days in a row anymore.

A _danna_ would cover his expenses. Would pay for his food, his clothes, his make-up. All of his bills. Then, Yuuri would be able to use all of his money to pay back his debt. He would be free sooner. Perhaps in less than five years.

Then he could do whatever he wanted.

He cries out as he comes, and the burning is gone for now, but it will return.

Yuuri eats the food Keiko has left outside his room, his thoughts still occupied with the idea. Even without the debt, he will most likely stay in the okiya and work as a geisha. He loves Minako, and aunty, and Keiko, and can tolerate Grandmother. He loves to dance. It is a good life that he has. Outside of Gion, nothing waits for him. His parents are dead, and he has not seen his sister Mari since the day they have been torn apart. He has no idea where she is, or if she is still alive.

Gion is his life, and dance is his passion. Minako is his family.

He will most likely stay. Unless he falls in love with someone, with a customer, or a _danna_ , perhaps. Then he might marry, and have a family of his own.

Yuuri does not want to think that far.

When he finally emerges from his room, two days have passed. He feels sticky, despite the fact he has washed himself before coming downstairs, but he knows the feeling won’t pass until he’s been to the public bath where all geisha go. Yuuri knows he is still a little pale as he enters Minako’s study where she smokes her pipe as usual. But she does not comment on it, but pours him a cup of tea instead.

“Are you hungry?” She asks.

Yuuri shakes his head, murmuring a thank-you as he accepts the tea and takes a sip. The green tea is soothing to his throat.

“How are you feeling?” Minako pushes her glasses up her nose, watching him attentively. It is unusual that Yuuri comes to her after his days of confinement, and does not head straight to the public bath.

“I’m alright,” Yuuri sighs. “I have… thought about what you said. About taking a _danna._ ”

Minako does not show that she is pleased, but Yuuri knows it. She is always worried about him and only wants the best for him. She would never push him into a decision, or simply decide for him. She only ever gives advice, and Yuuri is thankful for that.

Minako puts her newspaper aside to give him her full attention. “And what conclusion did you come to?” She asks him, reaching for her own cup of tea.

Yuuri put his own cup back down. “I think I should do it,” he says softly. “You are right. I won’t feel better like this. Only worse.”

Minako nods. “Such an arrangement would benefit you greatly, Yuuri. And not just in that regard. A _danna_ would help you to pay your debt faster and cover your expenses.”

“I know,” Yuuri sighs, meeting her gaze. “I just want you to know that I won’t leave you, Okaa-san.”

Minako narrows her eyes, as always when he calls her Mother instead of Sister or Teacher, but she understands. “You have no obligation to me once you have paid your debt, Yuuri,” she says. “You can do whatever you want, then.”

“I know,” Yuuri says softly. “But this place is my home. I want you to know that you can rely on me.”

Minako smiles at that, one of her few genuine, gentle smiles that only a small handful of people ever get to see.

“I know, Yuuri,” she says and reaches across the table to squeeze his hand. But all too soon, she pulls her hand away again and claps her hands on her lap instead. “So do you have someone in mind already?” She asks. “Quite a few people have begun to court you in that sense, you know. The list is rather long.”

“You keep a list?” Yuuri asks and raises an eyebrow.

“Of course I do,” Minako says with a chuckle.

“Well,” Yuuri says with a sigh. “To be honest, I was hoping you would be able to help me choose.”

Minako nods. “How about Tanaka?” She suggests. “He is a loyal customer of yours. You like him. You enjoy his company.”

“I do,” Yuuri says, thinking of the man. It is true, he likes Tanaka. He is always friendly, interesting to talk to, and respectful above everything else. That, and incredibly rich.”

“He is a good choice,” Minako says as she reaches for one of her books and opens it in the middle where, as promised, Yuuri can spot a list. Minako has always kept track of their customers, and Tanaka is no exception. “Forty-five years old, married, three children. He won’t propose marriage, then. But he has inquired about becoming your patron quite a few times.”

“He has?” Yuuri is surprised. “You never told me.”

“Because I knew you were not ready for that,” Minako replies. “But yes. He has asked me four times so far. I told him that we would let him know. And it seems that this time has now come.”

Yuuri says nothing to that, looking down at the notes about Tanaka. The man’s marriage has most likely been arranged, he thinks. It’s nothing special for a man of his standing to be a geisha’s _danna_. Yuuri does not have to feel bad about it.

“Yuuri,” Minako says softly. “This arrangement will be on your own terms. You decide what happens, and when, and how, and if it happens at all.”

“I know,” he says, meeting her gaze. “But I think this is the right thing to do. And you are right, I like Tanaka. He is a good choice. We should let him know.”

Minako nods. “Then I will make a few phone calls.”

* * *

They meet Tanaka in their usual ochaya, in one of the more private tea rooms. Yuuri is surprised that the man has agreed to a meeting so very quickly, just three days after Minako’s call. But there he is, impeccably dressed in a western-style suit. Yuuri has never seen him during the day, only ever in the light of the lamps, but he has to admit that Tanaka looks younger than he actually is even in broad daylight. He is a good-looking man, with a youthful face, a full head of black hair and kind, brown eyes that look warmly at Yuuri as he sits opposite of him with Minako.

“I believe this is the first time I see you without make-up, Chihoko-chan,” he says as he pours Yuuri a cup of tea.

Yuuri smiles. “I believe it really is, yes,” he says. For such a meeting, one does not put on make-up, not even a geisha. But he has done his hair, and wears one of his best kimono, just like Minako.

“You are even more beautiful like this, I dare to say,” he says. “The make-up of a geisha only emphasises your beauty. But so natural like this, one cannot help but admire you.”

Yuuri bows his head. “That is very kind of you, Tanaka-san,” he says. “Thank you that you could come at such short notice.”

“I have to say, I was surprised to receive your call, Minako-san,” he says, looking at the woman. “But nonetheless very pleased.”

Minako smiles. “Chihoko and I were thinking about it for quite some time,” she says. “But we both agreed that there would be no better choice than you, Tanaka-san.”

Tanaka chuckles. “Thank you. That is a great compliment, indeed. To be chosen by Chihoko for such a privilege.”

“A privilege it is indeed,” Minako says and pushes the paper slowly across the table. It is the contract that she has written, the standard contract for a geisha and her _danna_. Yuuri knows what it contains, and what their duties to each other entail.

Tanaka takes the contract and studies it attentively.

“This is a usual contract,” Minako explains. “I am sure you will find it satisfactory.”

Tanaka nods as he reads, his fingers brushing over the paper. “I do,” he says and looks up.

“Wonderful,” Minako smiles. Tanaka is rich, immensely rich, and can afford to support a geisha. “Furthermore, Chihoko has expressed the wish that for now, you shall meet privately in an ochaya of your choice twice a month. Of course, the frequency of your meetings may vary, depending on what you both decide.”

Tanaka nods again, and Yuuri believes to see the man blush a little. The man knows what those meetings are for.

Yuuri prefers not to think of what they will do together before the time has come.

“Chihoko's expenses include food, clothing, make-up, the fees for our dresser, Nakamura, and doctor visits,” Minako continues, and Yuuri is glad that she is doing the talking. She is so much better at this than he will ever be. “This, of course, includes certain procedures that may be made necessary by your meetings.”

Yuuri shifts a little on his cushion and Tanaka clears his throat in slight embarrassment. “Of course,” he says, and smiles at Yuuri. “We don’t want to have more of me, after all.”

Yuuri smiles back ever so lightly, entirely composed on the outside but incredibly nervous on the inside. There are ways to prevent such incidents, he knows that, but he also knows that they sometimes fail.

All he can do is hope for the best.

And then, the ink is dry on the paper, and their teacups filled as they drink to successful negotiations. Minako rises to use the restroom, and Yuuri is alone with his _danna_ , who is smiling at him ever so warmly.

 _He is a good man_ , Yuuri thinks.

“May I give you a gift, Chihoko-chan?” He asks softly. “I know I have given you many already in the past, but…” He looks hopeful.

Yuuri smiles at the man. “Of course you may,” he says. “I have always treasured your gifts, Tanaka-san.”

Tanaka smiles even wider. “I’m glad,” he says. He then reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small box, pushing it across the table towards Yuuri.

Yuuri opens it carefully. Inside is a comb of magnificent quality, ornamented with real pearls and the tiniest sea shells. It is a beautiful piece, and Yuuri already imagines the matching kimono for it.

“So beautiful,” he says quietly and looks up at Tanaka. “Thank you.”

Tanaka looks relieved, as if he has been afraid of Yuuri’s judgement. “My mother often wore something like this,” he says. “I thought this would look wonderful on you.”

“I shall treasure it the most, Tanaka-san,” Yuuri says, just as Minako returns.

As their meeting comes to an end, Tanaka accompanies them to the door where a rickshaw is waiting for them. Minako climbs into it first, giving her young student and his _danna_ a moment of privacy that Tanaka uses well. He takes Yuuri’s hand, kissing the back of it, like Yuuri has seen it in illustrations of Western books.

“I wish it were Sunday already,” he says softly, and Yuuri’s stomach flutters at the thought of that day. What will happen that day.

“Until then, I will think of you,” Tanaka says, and finally lets go of Yuuri’s hand. Yuuri bows, and wishes him a good week before joining Minako on the rickshaw.

He has done the right thing, Yuuri knows that, and that he has made Minako proud with his decision, too. That Tanaka is a good man.

And so, Yuuri looks ahead, Tanaka’s gift resting on his lap.

Minako does not ask questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think!  
> Your comments mean a lot to me <3


	4. When Petals Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back!  
> In this chapter, a lot is happening! There will also be a scene where Yuuri sleeps with another person. Feel free to skip that part if you wish, but I would be very happy if you read that paragraph nonetheless. I can assure you that Tanaka is a good person, and he has no ill intentions in this fic. He'll stick around, so better get used to him.

One of the privileges that geisha enjoy is to be able to sleep for as long as they like. Yuuri has always taken full advantage of that. He knows he does not function well early in the morning, unlike Minako, who is the epitome of ‘rise and shine’. No, Yuuri prefers to stay in bed until noon, especially when he has worked past midnight. His futon is of excellent quality; warm, soft, and like Heaven to touch.

But he wakes to the sounds of yelling and shouting coming from the inner courtyard of their okiya, followed by terrified cries of distress that he knows too well. He knows these sounds, for he has made them, too, many years ago.

He pushes the duvet back and gets up, clad in nothing but his sleeping yukata as he hurries down the narrow stairs and makes his way into the inner courtyard. The cobble stones are cold under his bare feet, for he has forgotten to slip into his sandals, but he does not care. He knows that except for him, Keiko, and Grandmother, there is no one at home, for Minako has taken Aunty to the General Hospital in the heart of Kyoto to have her hip looked at.

He turns around the corner, following the shouts and terrified screams to the back gate, and sees there what he has feared.

Grandmother is there, barely able to keep herself standing upright with her walking stick clutched in her left hand. In her right, she holds the birch that Yuuri has managed to forget. And to her feet on the cold ground, the terrified Keiko, wailing and screaming and begging for forgiveness as the birch hits her over and over again.

“You useless piece of dirt!” Grandmother shrieks as she hits Keiko again, and the girl cries out in fear and pain. “You worthless piece of scum! You ungrateful little—”

“Stop this at once!” Within the blink of an eye, Yuuri has stepped between them and grabs Grandmother’s wrist, keeping her from hitting little Keiko further. The old woman glares at him, glares at Yuuri the same way she glares at Keiko. Yuuri knows why, and how the woman sees him.

“Out of my way,” she spits. “You have nothing to do with this!”

“I said, stop this at once,” Yuuri repeats warningly. “What is the meaning of this?”

“I am punishing this insolent little brat!” Grandmother barks, and she shakes all over, her bones frail and her health terrible. But Yuuri knows that the woman is kept alive by the sheer malice running through her veins, and that the devils will probably throw a feast for her when she arrives in Hell. For him, the day cannot come fast enough.

“And whatever for?” Yuuri asks, not moving an inch from where he stands between Keiko and Grandmother’s birch. “What justifies such harsh punishment?”

“I’ll tell you what she did!” Grandmother snaps at him, lifting her thin, knobbly finger to point at the girl on the ground. “She poured hot miso soup all over my futon! Ruining the tatami mats that cost more than her pathetic life is worth!” She tries to strike Keiko again but Yuuri stops her, the birch landing hard on his own arm, but he does not care.

“None of this justifies a beating,” Yuuri says and rips the birch out of Grandmother’s hand, tossing it aside, so far away that he knows she won’t be able to reach it. He turns around and kneels by Keiko, taking her little arms and pulling her up. She shakes like a leaf as he turns her over to inspect her back. Thankfully, it is only a little red, but no damage has been done.

“Go upstairs and collect the futon and the tatami mats, yes?” He tells her softly. “Bring the futon to the laundry basket by the genkan and the tatami mats to Mother’s room. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Keiko sniffs and manages a tiny nod, then walks off to do as she has been told. She shakes as she walks, and Yuuri does not let her out of sight until she is safely inside the house again, and far from Grandmother’s reach.

The old woman is seething in anger, glaring at him as if he were worth less than the dirt beneath her feet. And Yuuri knows that this is how she sees him, that she never really approved of him despite being the one to buy him when he had been younger than Keiko is now.

“You have no say in this matter!” She spits, and her small eyes sparkle in pure disgust for who and what he is.

But Yuuri is not impressed by her cruelty. He never has been.

“I am the geisha of this house,” Yuuri says quietly, just for her to hear. “I am the one who pays for the rice in your bowl, the tea in your cup, and for the medicine that keeps your rotten heart beating. And when Minako is gone, I am the one who is in charge. I say that Keiko will no longer be beaten by you. You will not ever speak to her again. Should I ever see you mistreat her again, I will not hesitate to make sure that the tea you drink that night will be your last.”

Grandmother looks at him, her eyes full of disgust, but he also sees the fear in them that he wants her to feel.

“You are pathetic,” she hisses.

Yuuri does not reply.

He turns around and walks away, picking up the birch that has struck him in his childhood and breaks in two before throwing it over the fence. Never will he allow the woman to strike Keiko or anyone else again.

Back inside, he goes to search for little Keiko. He finds her, eventually, near the genkan where she sits on the steps, the soiled futon in the basket beside her and the wet tatami mats to her feet. Big tears are rolling down her cheeks, and she is shaking even now.

Yuuri sits down beside her and pulls her into his arms. “It’s alright,” he whispers and presses a small kiss to her hair. “She won’t hurt you again.”

Keiko whines, and Yuuri knows how terrified she is, having been that terrified child once, too.

“I promise you, Keiko, she won’t hurt you again,” he says. “Don’t worry about the futon or the tatami mats.”

Keiko hiccups, still terribly upset. “B-But… I r-ruined them…”

Yuuri looks at the wet tatami mats. “I think we just need to let them dry and then we can use them maybe in the dressing room where no one sees them. As for the futon, it just needs to be washed. Do you have any idea how many times I have dropped bowls or bottles?”

Keiko sniffs, looking at him in disbelief.

“It’s true,” Yuuri tells her. “I have ruined more tatami mats than there are in this house!”

At that, Keiko chuckles, and Yuuri is relieved to see the smile on her little face.

“Now go to Mother’s room and listen to the radio for a little, yes?” Yuuri says and rises again, pulling Keiko back onto her feet. “And then you go and practise the shamisen.”

“Yes, Yuuri-sama,” she says shyly and does what he says.

Yuuri sighs and looks down at the tatami mats. They are beyond repair, he knows that, but he won’t have their cost added to Keiko’s debt.

When Minako and Aunty return from the hospital around lunchtime, Keiko is upstairs playing the shamisen already, and Grandmother is probably sulking in her room. Not that Yuuri cares.

When he explains to Minako and Aunty what has happened, they agree with him.

Only Aunty is a little hesitant. “But the mats…”

“Their cost will be added to my debt,” Yuuri says firmly, and he knows it adds at least two months of work to his obligation towards the okiya.

Minako nods, picking her account book from the shelf and adding the sum to Yuuri’s debt. “You have a kind heart.”

Yuuri shrugs. “I won’t have Grandmother mistreat Keiko. Not like she treated me.”

Minako looks at him, and Yuuri knows that she feels bad for not being able to protect him. But she had not been in the position to speak up against the old woman back then, when Yuuri had been little and nothing but a servant boy in this house.

“And besides,” Yuuri says, “Keiko has talent. She will surely specialise in the shamisen and become an excellent geisha. And then she will pay back her debt in no time.”

“Indeed,” Aunty agrees, absentmindedly rubbing her hip where the doctor’s syringe has stung her.

Their conversation then moves on, to the appointment at the hospital and the advice the doctor has given Aunty for her health. Yuuri loves the older woman dearly, and often thinks fondly of his childhood with her, and how she has always secretly given him treats from the kitchen. As a geisha, she has never been as popular as Minako or himself, but she was known for her good humour and singing voice. Now she is retired and enjoys her golden years.

She is a woman to admire, Yuuri thinks every now and then.

But then he remembers how much he loves dancing, and how much he loves performing.

Sometimes, however, he wonders what his life would have become if his parents had not died. If he had not been taken away from Mari, and not been sold to the okiya, where would he be now? Would he be married? Would he be working on the rice fields, just like his father?

Yuuri knows it does not do well to dwell on the past, or what could be, if his life had not taken certain turns. He is where he is, and he has a good life. There is no way of denying that. Minako has become his friend, first, then his onee-san, teaching him the art of a geisha. Then his mother. One day, he knows, she will adopt him, and he will be the heir of the okiya. She could adopt him now, but Yuuri does not want that yet. He only wants it when he’s free of his debt.

Until then, he will be devoted to Minako in different ways.

When Aunty leaves to lie down for a little in her room, Minako pulls out a small notebook. Yuuri knows what it is. It contains the information of all new customers, of the people they have never met but are going to entertain. In their business, they always have to be prepared.

“I spoke to Tanaka yesterday,” Minako says, putting on her glasses and opening the notebook. “About the foreigners we are going to entertain. They are Russian. Yakov Feltsman and his nephew, Viktor, if I understood that correctly. I am not good with those foreign names.”

She pushes the notebook across the table towards Yuuri and picks up her pipe. Yuuri takes the notebook and reads what she has written down. Her writing is sloppy, as usual, but he is used to reading her handwriting.

“Russian,” Yuuri murmurs. “Do you speak Russian?”

“Not a word,” Minako replies. “You?”

“No,” Yuuri shakes his head. “But I assume they are able to speak English, as Tanaka said.”

“I think so,” Minako says, blowing out some smoke. “It will be interesting to entertain some foreigners. They are quite easily impressed. Let us stick to traditional songs and dances. Perhaps one that Tanaka likes. Was he not highly impressed by the one we presented in December?”

“I think he was, yes,” Yuuri murmurs as he reads the rest of the notes.

“Speaking of Tanaka,” Minako hums, chewing on the end of her pipe thoughtfully. “You are seeing him in three days.”

“Yes.” Yuuri does not look up from the book.

“If… if there is anything I can do,” Minako begins, “I mean, if there is anything that you would like to know or get advice for, please let me know.”

Yuuri lifts his head, finding Minako looking at him in both concern and encouragement. She has always been like this – trying to help him in any possible way, despite being only a beta. That has never stopped her from trying to be everything for him, not just a teacher or sister, but also a guiding light. She knows he has it more difficult than others because he is a male omega, but she knows it has never stopped Yuuri from doing what he wants.

“I know what sex is, Minako,” he says with a small smile. “And I know what to expect.”

Minako eyes him cautiously over her pipe. “Anyway,” she says then. “let me know. Talk to me if you want.”

“You know I will.”

“I know that you tend to keep your worries to yourself and dance them out instead,” Minako gives back, waving with her pipe. “That may have worked for the festivals last year, but it doesn’t work for everything.”

“What is sex, if not just another kind of dance,” Yuuri replies smoothly, and Minako rolls her eyes at that.

“Anyway,” Yuuri says and rises from the table. “I’ll check on Keiko now. She needs to know that no one is angry with her.”

Minako watches him leave, thoughtfully chewing on her pipe.

Of all her students, Yuuri has always been the most remarkable one.

But he has also been the one that made her worry the most. For she knows that a geisha’s heart is fragile.

And Yuuri’s heart is made of glass.

* * *

Much to Viktor’s surprise, the headquarters of Tanaka Kimono (a word which, as Viktor learns, does not only refer to traditional kimono but to clothing in general) are rather modern, yes, almost Western in style. The entrance hall is impeccable, and the hallways they are being led through are lined with samples of the clothes that the company has made. The entire history of the company is on display, and it shows that the company has moved on from doing traditional Japanese clothing only to also offering Western cuts.

For their purposes, this is an excellent development. But Viktor has to admit he likes the Japanese clothing style more.

It is more elegant in his eyes. But of course, he does not tell his uncle.

Yakov is looking stern, as always, even as they enter Tanaka’s office. Tanaka gets up from his Western-style desk and greets them with warm handshakes. He is always friendly, Viktor notices, always in a good mood. From his readings about Tanaka he knows that the man is forty-five years old, but he looks younger than that. His full head of hair is something to envy him for, and Viktor hopes he will be this lucky when he reaches that age.

But that day, thankfully, is still far away for him.

“Feltsman-san, Nikiforov-san, how nice to see you again,” Tanaka says. “Please! Take a seat. Would you like some tea?”

The secretary is there before they even have a chance to reply, pouring them tea into the prettiest, most delicate teacups.

“Feltsman-san, Nikiforov-san, you have no idea how delighted I am to have you here,” Tanaka assures them. “Your samples have surprised us, I have to say. We had other samples sent to us from Europe, but yours are truly beyond compare. I would be delighted to offer you a contract of collaboration.”

Yakov nods. “Our furs are always of the best standard,” he says. “We are glad that you wish to collaborate with us.”

“Wonderful.” Tanaka smiles at them almost like a schoolboy who just got a good grade. “Of course, it will take us some time to set up an appropriate contract that we both can work with, but if we work together on it, I am sure it will be satisfactory.”

“Of course,” Yakov replies calmly. “I will have the contract checked by a lawyer, of course.”

“I expected nothing less of you, Feltsman-san,” Tanaka says. Then, his gaze falls onto Viktor. “I was also hoping to suggest something else.”

“I’m listening,” Yakov says, folding his arms in the manner that is so typical for him.

“Why not work together with us here?” Tanaka suggests. “We would love to learn from you. And you may learn from us, too, of course.”

Yakov nods to show that he understands. “I cannot stay here, as you can imagine,” he says. “I cannot abandon my business in Russia. But my nephew here would be a good candidate.”

“Me?” Viktor shrieks in surprise, but his uncle ignores him.

“He may be young, but he learns fast,” Yakov says to Tanaka. “And I have wanted him to learn the art of our trade from others, too. Not just from me.”

Viktor’s heart is beating fast in his chest, for he knows what this means.

Yakov trusts him.

This is his chance to show his uncle that he deserves his trust. That he is a worthy heir of their company, of what Yakov and his brother, Viktor’s father, have built together.

Tanaka nods. “I think that is an excellent idea,” he says. “Young people must see the world and learn. Why not start in Japan?”

“Of course he will need guidance,” Yakov says. “I assume that I can count on you in that regard?”

“Certainly!” Tanaka assures him and smiles widely at Viktor. “You are most welcome in our company, Nikiforov-san, and in my home, too. You are very welcome to live with me and my family outside of Kyoto, if you wish.”

“That is very kind of you, Sir,” Viktor says and bows his head in the fashion of the Japanese. “But if you don’t mind, I would like to stay in the city. I find the place incredibly fascinating, and I have found friends already.”

Tanaka laughs. “Oh, that is excellent. You young people are always so eager to learn and stay right where the bustling life is. Of course, you may stay in the city. For your lodgings, please let me know if you need something more appropriate.”

“They are perfect, Sir, really,” Viktor assures him, trying to stay as calm as possible. But inside, he is almost bursting with joy. He can stay in Kyoto. He can show Yakov what he is capable of. He can make him proud.

“You must come for a visit to my family home, however,” Tanaka insists. “My children are trying to learn English and would love to practise it properly.”

“I would be delighted to practise with them when I can,” Viktor assures him.

“Wonderful,” Tanaka nods. “So I will see you on, ah, what is the word for getsuyoubi again… ah! Monday, yes. We see each other on Monday, then, for dinner and entertainment at my preferred ochaya. You will like it, believe me, I have invited the finest geisha of Gion!”

They are out on the street again before he even knows it, a contract promised and a whole new life waiting for Viktor. He is so giddy that he cannot believe it – and that alone annoys Yakov to no end.

“Now don’t get too excited, Vitya,” Yakov warns him as they walk through the streets of Kyoto. “I expect you to work hard here. Learn Japanese, study the people here, get our business to thrive. This is no holiday for you.”

“I know, I know!” Viktor assures his uncle. “But I cannot deny that… that this is a dream come true, Yakov. And, I don’t know why, but…” He looks around. “I really like Kyoto.”

“I’ve noticed that,” Yakov huffs as they cross a bridge. “You have already done the one thing I told you not to do and made friends with foreigners. I’ve seen you with that man with the strange hair.”

“Oh, Chris is not in the clothing business,” Viktor tells him. “He’s a student.”

“Even worse,” Yakov growls. “But do what you want. That’s what you have been doing all the time, anyway. Just don’t waste all your time on your friend.”

“He can teach me Japanese,” Viktor replies. “He’s quite good at it and has offered to help me.”

“I’d prefer it if you learnt Japanese from actual Japanese people,” Yakov mutters, and Viktor knows that no matter what he says, the old man will always complain. That simply is what he does, and what probably keeps him alive.

The day Yakov stops complaining, Russia will fall – that much Viktor knows.

“What do you think of Tanaka, Yakov?” Viktor asks, trying to change the subject.

“I think he wants to make more money through us,” Yakov says. “And he knows that I know that he’s ruthless in business. Do you know that that makes him?”

Viktor looks at his uncle in confusion for a moment, then shakes his head.

“Friend and foe, both at once.”

* * *

The ochaya is quiet as Yuuri arrives there on Sunday evening, the rickshaw stopping right in front of the doors and the driver holding up an umbrella for Yuuri to shield him from the rain. This is not what drivers usually do, but in Gion, they do it with pride, for they get to drive geisha around, and one like Yuuri is one that pays well. And so, Yuuri knows the rain won’t touch his precious kimono as he climbs from the rickshaw, briefly nodding at his driver before he enters through the sliding doors.

Yuuri knows the woman that owns the ochaya well, for she is an old friend of their okiya and therefore, friends with Minako. She greets Yuuri with a bow and takes his shoes from him, and he wriggles his toes once they have been freed from the geta he is used to wearing. On the wooden floor, one only wears socks, and one never steps onto the precious tatami mats with shoes.

The owner takes him down the corridor to the private rooms that the ochaya offers, where he is to spend the night with his _danna._ Yuuri knows that most geisha in his position, he should be nervous, but he finds that he is not. Perhaps because he knows what will await him behind these doors, and who. In the past, omega geisha could not choose their patron freely, and he assumes that this was what has made Grandmother so bitter, amongst other things. But he is here on his own terms, and can leave whenever he wants.

The doors are slid aside for him, and Yuuri enters the room, kneeling down by the door to bow to his _danna_ in greeting.

He can hear Tanaka’s footsteps on the mats, and his voice, too, once the owner has closed the door behind him.

“My dearest Chihoko,” he says, and Yuuri looks up, finding the other man standing before him, his smile warm, his eyes kind, and his hands held out for him to take. Yuuri places his hands in Tanaka’s and rises. “I hope the journey was not too tedious in this weather.”

“Not at all,” Yuuri replies, looking at the window from where he can see into the garden, and watch the rain touch everything in its reach. “I heard that Tanaka-san was outside of Kyoto. Your journey must have been far more strenuous than mine.”

Tanaka chuckles. “I cannot deny that I got indeed soaked the moment I stepped out of the train. Please.” He gestures at the table in the centre of the room. “Our dinner should arrive soon.”

Yuuri follows the man to the table and sits down, just as the door opens and two servants come in with their food. It is far too much, Yuuri sees that at once, but he knows that this is Tanaka’s way of trying to impress him, aside from giving him expensive gifts. Not that Yuuri ever cared for ornaments. After all, he is one himself, and knows that every kind beauty fades.

Tanaka looks at him, a smile on his youthful face that is both happy and shy at once. It is clear to Yuuri that the man does not know what to say, now that they are truly alone for the first time within the boundaries of their arrangement. But Yuuri would not be the famous geisha that he is if he did not know how to break the ice.

“Minako has told me about the foreigners you are going to introduce to us,” Yuuri says and begins to pour Tanaka a glass of beer. “They are Russians, are they not?”

“Indeed,” Tanaka confirms, glad that they have started a conversation with a topic he knows about. He then proceeds to pour Yuuri a glass of water. “I have spoken to them just a few days ago. I am sure we will be good business partners. They are hardworking men, and value quality just as we do.”

“They sound very sensible,” Yuuri says and thanks Tanaka for the water before taking a sip. “I do not speak Russian, I am afraid, and neither does Minako. But they speak English, then?”

“Very well, even,” Tanaka assures him. “How good is your English, Chihoko-chan, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Hmm,” Yuuri says, playfully bringing a finger to his chin as if deep in thought. “ _Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate; rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, and summer’s lease hath all too short a date…_ ”

Tanaka laughs heartily and slaps his thigh. “Oh, how clever you are, my dear Chihoko-chan! I shall never doubt you again! Say, how on earth did you learn to speak like that?”

“I enjoy reading English literature when I have the time,” Yuuri tells him. “Shakespeare’s sonnets were the first book that Minako gave to me, many years ago. I treasure them so.”

“Shakespeare was a fine poet, indeed,” Tanaka agrees. “And his poetry seems to describe you. For you are indeed more lovely and more temperate than a summer’s day.”

“What season’s day do I remind you of, then?” Yuuri asks with a small smile.

Tanaka regards him thoughtfully. “You are like… like the last snowflakes on the first day of spring. Fragile and tender, and tragically beautiful. The mere sight makes one weep. But the snowflake merely takes the shape of water, and finds its way elsewhere. The day too warm for it to stay.”

Yuuri is surprised at such poetry coming from the mouth of a business man, so surprised that he cannot help but stare at Tanaka dumbfoundedly for a moment. But then, he pulls himself together again, and smiles. “That was beautiful,” he says. “But my birthday is not in Spring. It is in November.”

“Ah!” Tanaka sighs and shakes his head. “Wrong again! You are indeed a mystery, Chihoko-chan. I fear I will never be able to discover all of you.”

“That is part of my trade, I believe,” Yuuri says. “To always be an enigma to some extent.”

Tanaka hums thoughtfully. “That is certainly true,” he said. “I knew you were an enigma from the very first time I saw you. How many years ago was that…” He sighs. “It was your debut, that I remember. How old were you then, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Yuuri shakes his head. “I was fifteen,” he replied. “Almost sixteen. So it was a little more than four years ago.”

Tanaka looks impressed. “You have not aged a single day since then, my dear,” he says. “I remember how lovely you looked in that yellow kimono. It was like gold. And you, dancing to the music of the shamisen.”

Yuuri chuckles, absentmindedly touching the hem of his sleeve. He remembers that evening only too well – how sleepless the night before had been, and how Minako had tried to cheer him up. He would be fine, she had told him over and over again, that he would be wonderful and beautiful and breathtaking. The evening had been a full success in the end, and had made Yuuri the most famous geisha in Gion.

“I was so terribly nervous that night,” Yuuri tells him. “I was so afraid of dropping my fans or saying something wrong. But everything went well in the end.”

“If it helps,” Tanaka says, resting on his lower arms on the table and clasping his hands, “you did not seem nervous at all to me. You were breathtaking.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri says softly. “That means a lot to me.”

“I must admit that I have followed your career ever since,” Tanaka says and pours Yuuri another cup of tea. “I was always fond of dear Minako, but it was you, in the end, who enchanted me the most. There was something about the way you danced that…” He trails off, as if in search for words. “I cannot tell you anything you have not been told by so many others already, I fear,” he sighs then. “And I must admit that I asked Minako about becoming your _danna_ merely six months after your debut.”

Now it is Yuuri’s turn to be surprised, and he cannot help but blush at the man’s confession. It takes a man a lot of courage to ask a geisha to become her patron – and even more to ask again, and again, and again.

“My wish became stronger with every time that I spoke to you,” Tanaka continues. “I have rarely found such a witty, intelligent conversational partner. I find it… incredibly easy to talk to you.”

Tanaka looks like a young boy now, shy and embarrassed of admitting all these things, but Yuuri cannot help but feel moved. There are a lot of things that a man like Tanaka could focus on in his life, and he has no doubt that Tanaka is incredibly busy, yes – that he is the kind of man that hardly has any time for pleasures. It is no wonder that he combines his business meetings with geisha entertainment, to get at least some relaxation in his hectic life. To be the patron of a geisha means to make time for another person; a person that could as well be his wife. But Tanaka has chosen to make time for him, for Chihoko, because he likes him. Perhaps Tanaka does more than just like him. Perhaps he has something like love for him. But no geisha ever thinks of that, especially when the patron is married, like Tanaka.

And yet, Tanaka makes him, Yuuri, a priority.

Yuuri bows his head. “I find it very easy to talk to you, too,” he admits, and it is the full truth. Some customers are incredibly difficult or simply boring, and Yuuri has to force himself through the evening. That has never been the case with Tanaka, not even now. It is like talking to an old friend.

Tanaka’s face lights up and his hand slowly reaches across the table. “It makes me very happy to hear that,” he says, and hesitantly takes Yuuri’s hand into his own. Yuuri lets him.

It is not the first time they have touched each other’s hands, but this time, it feels more intimate than ever before, despite being so very innocent still.

“Say, Chihoko-chan,” Tanaka says softly. “Do you play shogi?”

“Ah?”

Before Yuuri knows it, he finds himself sitting in front of a shogi board, a game he has played before but certainly is no master of. However, Tanaka is one, and it is a simple thing for him to win the first match. For the second, he teaches Yuuri a few moves and then they try again. Tanaka is a good teacher, Yuuri realises, and he is sure that the man is a good father, too. Three children, if he remembers correctly, and Yuuri wonders if they are boys or girls. And if they see their father often. But he pushes the thought aside, focusing on the game, and he finds that he enjoys it. That he enjoys Tanaka’s company.

Yuuri does not know for how long they have played until they finish yet another game, Yuuri winning this time, but just barely.

“You have a talent for this game, Chihoko-chan,” Tanaka tells him with a chuckle. “You surely practised in secret.”

“I didn’t,” Yuuri laughs, shaking his head and hiding his laugh almost shyly behind his hand. “I used to play it every now and then when I was but a _maiko_ , that’s all.”

“You really have many talents, Chihoko-chan,” Tanaka says.

“I do my best,” Yuuri replies softly and clasps his hands on his lap.

It has become night since they started their game, and neither of them actually know how late it is. Usually, Yuuri is out with Minako at this time of the evening, entertaining their customers with dance, music, and good conversation. Hence, Yuuri is not tired, and very much aware of the look that Tanaka gives him. It is a longing, yet gentle gaze, and he knows what it means.

“Chihoko-chan,” he begins, and his voice is surprisingly soft as he speaks. “We don’t have to do anything tonight. You don’t have to feel obligated to give me anything that… that you are not comfortable with.”

His words surprise Yuuri more than he would like to admit, but he cannot help but stare at Tanaka for a moment, dumbfounded by his words. It is not that he thought Tanaka to be a brute in that regard, no. But Tanaka giving him a choice, waiting for him to clearly consent to anything that might take place behind the doors of their bedchamber – it is more than he would have ever dared to expect.

Right now, he is of sound mind. He cannot tell what it would be like if he waited for his fertile days to come to spend the night with Tanaka. But Yuuri knows he wants to be aware of it all, and not be a victim of his nature.

“I want to spend the night with you, Tanaka-san,” Yuuri says and looks the other man in the eye. “In… in every way.”

A smile appears on Tanaka’s youthful face, and he reaches across the table again, taking Yuuri’s hand. “Then let us go to bed.”

Together, they rise from the tatami mats, and Yuuri follows the man through the sliding doors that lead to the bedroom next door.

The room is as elegant yet simple as the one before, traditional with tatami mats. There is a beautiful scroll hanging in the alcove, as well as a stunning flower arrangement that he would have admired greatly in any other situation. But right now, Yuuri has only eyes for the two futons that have been laid out in the centre of the room, a beautiful partition shielding them from the door leading to the corridor.

He is not afraid, but he feels a fluttering deep down in his belly, as if it inhabited a thousand little birds. Tanaka’s hand is on his arm, resting there in reassurance, waiting, ever so patient.

“Are you alright, Chihoko-chan?” He asks softly, and Yuuri nods, and he means it. He is, much to his own surprise, very much alright. “Do you need help with…” Tanaka gestures at the kimono he is wearing. “I have experience with kimono of that kind. Because of my trade,” he adds quickly. “Not because I-“

Yuuri chuckles, and that alone eases the sudden tension between them. “Yes, I need help with my kimono,” he says and stands perfectly still, the epitome of a beautiful geisha as he lets Tanaka remove his obi with skilled hands. It is not an easy task, and there is a reason that every okiya employs a professional dresser that comes to them every single day. The moment the heavy obi comes off, Yuuri is able to breathe more freely, and his posture threatens to change. But he stands still enough as Tanaka puts the obi away carefully, and then comes to stand behind him again, his hands resting on Yuuri’s upper arms.

“Are you still sure about this, Chihoko-chan?” Tanaka asks softly. “You will tell me if you want me to stop, won’t you?”

Yuuri nods.

He shivers a little as Tanaka takes layer after layer off him, all of them joining the obi, every single one of them carefully folded to protect them. That alone is proof that Tanaka knows what he is doing, that he is a man of the kimono trade, and knows how to handle the most precious piece of clothing that a geisha possesses. Only as Yuuri is left in nothing but his _nagajuban_ , he stops, and Yuuri turns around to him, finding the other man watching him in utter fascination. Tanaka then gestures at the futon, and Yuuri does as he is told. He kneels down on one of them, his posture a perfect _seiza_ as he waits, his gaze lowered.

Tanaka undresses, too, behind the partition, and joins him a minute later in traditional sleepwear of his own. He kneels down beside Yuuri and takes his face into his hands, carefully, as if he almost did not dare to do so, and caresses his cheeks with his thumbs.

“How beautiful you are, Chihoko-chan,” he says quietly. “Like the petals of a rose when the rain drops onto them.”

Again, Yuuri is amazed by the poetry that falls from the other man’s lips, and he wonders if it is just flattery to help him relax, but deep down, he knows that Tanaka means it – as unbelievable as it seems.

“Thank you,” Yuuri whispers.

And then, Tanaka pulls him closer, and Yuuri lets go.

He is limp in the other man’s arms as he puts him down on the futon ever so carefully, as if he were made of glass. Yuuri almost does not feel his head touch the futon, just one proof of how gentle Tanaka is as he lays him down the way he wants him. Yuuri closes his eyes, does what Minako has told him. He feels Tanaka’s hands undo the sash of his _nagajuban_ , followed by the cool air on his skin. Then, there is a hand on his chest, curious yet gentle, moving down to his soft stomach. It foregoes the most sacred place between his legs and comes to rest on his thigh instead, caressing it ever so gently. It is an incredibly tender gesture, Yuuri knows that, and he feels his legs tremble in response, parting them just enough to allow his _danna_ to touch him.

Tanaka is gentle, his fingers caressing him only for some time as he allows Yuuri to get used to the feeling. It is not much different from when he touches himself, Yuuri thinks, besides the fact that this is new to them both. Tanaka’s fingers then reach his entrance, and Yuuri has to remind himself not to hold his breath. It is where he has never touched himself, the place of which Minako has told him he should keep sacred for a moment like this. But Tanaka is incredibly careful as he slips first one, then two of his fingers into him. Minako has told him that alphas like it there, that they love the warmth that this most sacred spot of a woman or male omega gives them, and that it brings them the most joy to be the first one to sink into it.

Yuuri shivers as Tanaka withdraws his fingers again, then feels something soft at his entrance for a moment before it is pushed into him, deeper than Tanaka’s fingers have reached, right to the place where his womb would take in an alpha’s seed. But they don’t want this to happen, and he is glad that his _danna_ has thought of that. With the protection in place, Yuuri finds that he cannot feel it once Tanaka has withdrawn his fingers again. The hand is back on his thigh, stroking it gently, and Yuuri takes another deep breath.

It hurts a little as Tanaka enters him, and a small gasp comes over Yuuri’s lips, but the pain is gone as quickly as it has come. He can hear the other man’s breath close to his ear, feels his stomach against his own as he moves inside him in a slow rhythm, the initial pain replaced with a feeling of fullness he has not known before, and Yuuri knows it will leave him raw and vulnerable afterwards. But his partner is as gentle and as careful as he could possibly be, Yuuri knows that, and he whines softly as the angle changes, brushing a certain spot deep inside him just for a moment.

Yuuri imagines eyes as blue as the sparkling sea, and he moans.

His moan is taken, because that is what it is, as a good sign, the thrusts becoming slightly firmer and more determined. His partner brushes that spot again, and again, and again until Yuuri whimpers, and the sweet pains that he only ever does to himself in private wash over him all of a sudden. Tanaka groans, and a hand grips his waist, and after a few more thrusts, he stiffens above Yuuri, and comes to rest on top of him with a deep, satisfied sigh.

Yuuri does not even dare to open his eyes.

He does not know for how long Tanaka rests on top of him, buried deep inside him between his legs. Tanaka is heavy on top of him, but he is warm, and he cradles Yuuri in his arms like a husband would hold his wife.

Only when Tanaka withdraws from him and lies down beside him, Yuuri opens his eyes.

The candles have gone out during their act, and Yuuri can barely see the other man’s face in the dark. But Tanaka’s hand is on his cheek, and Yuuri feels his lips on his hair.

“Sweet Chihoko,” Tanaka whispers, and Yuuri shivers at the tenderness in Tanaka’s voice.

They fall asleep like that, Tanaka first, exhausted from their coupling and satisfied. Yuuri is awake for a little longer, a hand on his belly as he realises what he has done, and what it means, and the rain keeps drumming onto the roof above them.

* * *

The following morning, Yuuri dresses in a simple kimono that someone, probably Keiko, has delivered to the ochaya in the early hours of the day. A light breakfast is brought to their room and they eat in comfortable silence for a while until Tanaka glances at his watch and sighs.

“Is everything alright?” Yuuri asks.

“I have a meeting in two hours,” Tanaka murmurs, taking a sip from his tea. “With people I’d rather not see. And I have to terminate someone’s employment.”

“I see,” Yuuri says. “That sounds very difficult.”

“It is part of my duties as the owner of the company, I’m afraid,” Tanaka sighs and drinks the rest of the tea. “But at least I can start into the day refreshed and well-rested,” he adds and smiles at Yuuri.

Yuuri smiles back and bows his head.

It is him who has to leave the ochaya first – if Tanaka were to leave before him, it would be no better than a man leaving the prostitute he has paid to be with for the night. But Yuuri is no prostitute, and Tanaka is not a client, and it is in the best interest of both parties to make sure it stays that way.

And so, Tanaka takes him to the door, the sound of the bustling streets reaching them already.

“Thank you for last night, Chihoko-chan,” Tanaka says. “I enjoyed your company very much.”

Yuuri bows his head. “I enjoyed it too, Tanaka-san,” he says.

Tanaka clears his throat and reaches into his jacket. “I… I have something for you,” he says and pulls out a small box, presenting it to Yuuri with both hands. Yuuri raises an eyebrow in surprise, accepting the gift.

“Please, open it,” Tanaka says encouragingly.

Yuuri does as he is asked to, carefully opening the small box. Inside he finds a rather unusual gift; a necklace made of pearls, like the ones Western women wear. Yuuri has only ever seen jewellery like this in magazines, and he is sure that it cost a small fortune.

“How beautiful,” Yuuri says softly and looks up. “Thank you so much.”

Tanaka looks happy at that. “I’m glad you like it,” he says. “Don’t you want to wear it?”

“Oh, I’m going to the public bath now,” Yuuri says, touching the pearls. “I possibly couldn’t wear it there.”

“Then I will have it sent to the okiya,” Tanaka says and Yuuri places the box in his hands again. “Together with the kimono you wore last night. It suited you so very well.”

Yuuri is used to receiving compliments, but not so many in a row, and not in so many different ways by the same person. He does not know how to react best, but decides on bowing his head again, hoping that it is enough.

“Thank you, Tanaka-san,” he says. “That means very much to me.”

The sounds of the street seem even louder now, an ever-present reminder that the day and their lives are waiting for them outside the ochaya, that it is time to part.

“One more thing,” Tanaka says, and Yuuri realises that the man suddenly blushes. “May… May I give you a kiss, Chihoko-chan?”

Yuuri blinks in surprise. That he certainly has not expected.

“I… Y-Yes, of course,” he says faintly, not knowing what else to say.

Tanaka smiles, and cups Yuuri’s cheek, and Yuuri closes his eyes.

The kiss is soft, gentle, and only pressed to the corner of his mouth, foregoing his lips as if out of respect. Yuuri is sure that this is what it is, an act of respect, because this is how he knows Tanaka. The man has ever been nothing but respectful, and considerate of him as a person.

When Tanaka pulls away again, Yuuri does not know what to say. After all, it has been his first kiss, and he is sure that Tanaka knows this.

“I’ll see you soon,” Tanaka says and squeezes his hand before he opens the door for him. And just like that, their night together ends, and Yuuri finds himself back in reality. The morning air is cool and fresh as he walks, leaving the ochaya behind as he walks to the public bath.

Yuuri had thought the world would look different after his night with Tanaka, but he finds that it really does not. Gion is still the same, and so are the people that greet him. They all know him, even without the make-up and magnificent kimono that he usually wears. They know that no matter what he wears, he is still the same, that he is more than the geisha that everyone knows.

The public bath is empty at this time of the day, for most geisha are still at home in bed, sleeping off the exhaustion of a night of entertaining. Yuuri would usually be amongst them, but for now, he is glad that he does not have to talk to others as he removes the evidence of the previous night. He removes his clothing and leaves it in the shelf by the entrance before entering the part reserved for omegas. It is a soothing ritual to wash away the evidence of their coupling, although there is not much left. Yuuri takes a deep breath before reaching inside, feeling how sensitive this part of his body is after their activities. Carefully, he pulls out the soft, little sponge that Tanaka has put there to stop Yuuri’s body from taking in any seed. It glistens white in the light coming from above as Yuuri studies it before throwing it away, hoping that it has done its task sufficiently.

After that, the bath slowly fills with people, the women nodding in greeting at him as Yuuri bathes. When he is done, he gets dressed again and heads home, promptly being greeted by little Keiko who takes his shoes from him and puts them away. Yuuri pats her head before heading to Minako’s room.

She sits at her table, as usual, smoking her pipe. Beside her is the kimono that Yuuri has worn the night before, on top of it the soiled _nagajuban_ , where Yuuri can spot a few drops of blood amongst other things. On the table lies the small box with the pearl necklace, and Yuuri is sure that she has opened it already. She has always been a curious woman.

“A beautiful necklace,” she says, and confirms Yuuri’s suspicions. “He would be a good match if he were not married already.”

“Probably, yes,” Yuuri says with a sigh. “I will lie down for a bit, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Minako hums. “You’re free tonight, by the way. I thought you would enjoy some time to yourself.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri says. “We’ll talk later.”

“No rush,” Minako hums and picks up her newspaper again.

At least here, Yuuri thinks, he has some peace and quiet.

* * *

What to expect of Gion Viktor does not know, but it is certainly not that.

He has never been to a tea house before – an ochaya, as he is told by Tanaka. But this ochaya is a fine one, Tanaka assures him as they take off their shoes and take their seats at the small tables. There is food, plenty of it, even, and more tea and beer than he has ever seen before.

But what Tanaka has promised is special entertainment, and although Viktor has no idea what to expect of geisha entertainment, Chris’ descriptions have made him curious.

“It is time to celebrate,” Tanaka announces. “To celebrate a new friendship, and the new collaboration of two companies. I am sure that we will prosper together. And it is with great pleasure that I welcome Feltsman-san and Nikiforov-san into my circle of friends.”

They applaud politely, and Tanaka smiles and bows. “But now, I am sure we should continue with the evening, and I believe I can hear our most precious guests already. Ah!”

Just then, the door slides open and two of the most beautiful creatures that Viktor has ever seen enter the room. The geisha are breathtaking in their beautiful kimono and their painted faces, and Viktor suddenly feels very warm as they kneel down and bow, greeting them in both Japanese and accentuated English.

“May I introduce,” Tanaka smiles and gestures at the geisha. “My dear friends, Minako-san and dear Chihoko-chan. The most accomplished geisha of Gion.”

The older of the two chuckles. “You are too kind,” she says. “But we both know that only one of us deserves to be called as such.”

Tanaka then turns to the other geisha, a stunning, male omega that smells so divine that Viktor has to remind himself to keep breathing. “Dearest Chihoko-chan,” he says to the omega. “You must meet Nikiforov-san. After all, your English is flawless, and you are close together in age!”

Tanaka then turns to Viktor, and with him the geisha, and Viktor holds his breath as brown eyes meet blue ones.

And deep down, he knows that Chihoko is holding his breath, too.

Outside, it rains, and a thunderstorm begins.


	5. The One Amongst Thousands

It is a strange feeling, Viktor realises, strange and overwhelming, so be so close and yet be unable to touch.

Because that is what he wants to do – he wants to touch Chihoko, take his hands and pull him aside, take him away from the spotlight to a place of their own where they can talk, to get the answer to the question that burns inside him. Does Chihoko remember him, too? Or is it merely a cruel twist of fate for them to meet again, and only Viktor remembers?

After all those years, could Chihoko be blamed for not knowing?

But Viktor has a feeling that Chihoko knows.

Their eyes have only met for a second before Chihoko bows and introduces himself, his voice like velvet as he speaks.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Nikiforov-san.”

His English is accentuated, like most people’s speech here, but it has a certain grace and elegance that speaks of a learned mind.

Tanaka smiles at him. “Dear Chihoko is quite good at English,” he says. “He recited Shakespeare to me just a few days ago. Sonnet 18, was it, if I remember correctly. You have never heard poetry like it. Such beautiful words falling from such beautiful lips.”

Chihoko bows his head. “You are very kind, Tanaka-san,” he says softly, his voice almost a whisper.

Viktor wants to hear more of it.

But it is not up to him to ask for it, and if he is being honest, he does not even know how to start such a conversation, how to find a reason to keep Chihoko close to him, and talking. Before he can come to a solution, he has already missed his chance. The older of the two geisha leads Chihoko to the free spaces at the low table, right between Yakov and one of Tanaka’s men. It is there where the entertainment begins, Viktor realises soon as the geisha begin to make polite conversation and pour them drinks. Chihoko sits the furthest from him, right next to Tanaka’s young assistant – a silly, yet hardworking young man that promptly showers Chihoko in what Viktor is sure are countless compliments. He does not understand what the man is saying, of course, but he understands the words of gratitude that Chihoko tells him in return.

The other geisha, Minako, promptly pulls him and Yakov into a conversation.

“Did you arrive in Japan safe?” She asks, her English slow but clear enough for them to understand as she pours them beer into their glasses. Viktor has not been aware that it is possible to pour a drink in such an elegant way. But Minako makes it appear effortless. “It was a long journey, no?”

“Very long, yes”, Yakov says and takes the glass, and once more, Viktor is amazed how entirely unfazed his uncle can be in the face of beauty.

“Very long indeed,” Viktor says quickly, not wanting Minako to think of them as brutes that don’t know how to hold a conversation. “We flew to China and then took a ship to Japan.”

“Oh, you fly!” Minako says in surprise, and she seems genuinely amazed. “I only ever see planes. But I never fly in one. Is it comfortable?”

“Very much, yes,” Viktor tells the geisha that seems genuinely interested in what he has to say. Perhaps she really is. “And it is so much quicker than a ship or train. But any journey that is longer than a few hours is very tiring, I’m afraid.”

Minako smiles and bows her head. “Indeed. I once travel to Yokohama, and then to Sapporo. Such a long time on the train!”

“Where is Sapporo?” Viktor asks curiously. “Is it far away from Kyoto?”

“Oh, very far,” Minako confirms. “I was born in Sapporo. It is a nice place. Do you stay long in Japan? Then you must visit.”

Viktor nods. “I will stay for a little longer in your beautiful country, Minako-san. Is that the right honorific? Please do tell me if I say something wrong.”

Minako chuckles, hiding her smile behind her pale hand. “It is very good, Nikiforov-san,” she assures him. “Japanese is difficult. But honorifics are very important. But you are foreign, you can make mistakes and not have problems.”

Viktor laughs nervously, scratching the back of his head. “I wish I could master your language in no time, for it is so very beautiful. But it is difficult, as you say. So is Russian, and so is English. Our languages are so very different from one another. Say, Minako-san, where did you learn English?”

Minako pushes his glass towards him, slowly, carefully, and Viktor suddenly feels obliged to drink in order to make her happy. He grabs the glass, taking a sip as she answers.

“We had a teacher,” she replies. “Chihoko-chan, however, has taught himself entirely. He likes to listen to the English radio programme. He has always been quite attentive and learns fast.”

Viktor looks over at Chihoko again, feeling his heart ache at his sight. Chihoko is now sitting beside Tanaka, exchanging pleasantries with the man. Chihoko picks up the small bottle of sake and just as he begins to fill Tanaka’s glass, Viktor can see the slightest bit of bare skin, Chihoko’s delicate wrist, exposed for just a split second.

He is sure that Tanaka can see it to.

Viktor cannot tell why, but he knows that this is an intimate gesture. Something he should not see. Something meant for Tanaka’s eyes only.

Tanaka gives Chihoko a long, tender look.

“The kimono you wear,” Yakov says suddenly, and Viktor is so amazed by the fact his uncle is speaking that he returns his attention to the woman before him. Yakov has grasped the hem of the kimono sleeve, feeling the fabric between his fingers. Viktor is sure that Minako is appalled by his uncle’s unwanted touch, but does not let it show. “Is it Tanaka’s silk?”

“Of course it is,” Tanaka calls from the other side of the room and rises from the tatami mat, making his way over to them, sitting down beside Yakov. “A recent gift of the company to the okiya. When one sees beautiful geisha in our kimono, one understands the true meaning of the art. It is one thing to design a kimono, and to collect the materials. But only a geisha completes the picture, and creates the masterpiece. You see, Feltsman-san, how the collar of the kimono is shaped?” He continues to give them a lecture of different kimono cuts and patterns, explains which is being worn by whom and for what occasion. Viktor realises that Tanaka does indeed know what he is talking about, for his speech is passionate, and his words of genuine interest and not shaped by the financial benefit he gets through his work. If Viktor remembers correctly, then Tanaka’s ancestors were simple tailors. Only in the last fifty years, the Tanaka name has become a synonym for quality and excellence.

“Putting on a kimono is an art in itself!” Tanaka continues. “Each geisha house has a dresser that comes to help them every single day. It is a rather long and complicated process, but a geisha’s dresser is probably the most important person in their business, right after the people of the okiya. Am I right there, Minako-san?”

“Absolutely,” Minako confirms with a polite smile. “Nakamura-san, our dresser, is a dear friend. He helps me and Chihoko every single day.”

“And he is probably the only man ever allowed in the okiya that is not an omega,” Tanaka adds and turns his head. “Chihoko-chan wears one of our more floral kimono. Chihoko-chan, would you be so kind and show our guests?”

Chihoko rises from the tatami mats with incomparable elegance, despite the restrictive piece of clothing he is wearing. He holds his head high, not with pride, but with confidence as he makes his way over to them with small steps that make it seem as if he were floating.

“Look at the details here,” Tanaka says, his fingers ghosting over the silken kimono, right where Chihoko’s knee should be. “The embroidery is handmade, of course. We could use machines like they have them in the West, but our silk is far too delicate. Only women with the finest hands are allowed to work on our kimono, hence the high price. And here, the _obi_.” Tanaka rises again and touches the belt that seems to hold the kimono together. “No kimono is ever complete without the _obi_. Yes, I dare to say that without the right _obi_ , any kimono is worthless. Unless… unless it is worn by someone as beautiful as our dear Chihoko, that is.”

At those words, Tanaka’s men agree loudly, and Chihoko shyly bows his head, as if embarrassed by such words.

Viktor cannot help but feel the urge to take Chihoko by the hand and take him away, hide him from the world that sees the ornament in him and nothing else.

“And true beauty,” Minako adds softly, “is expressed in the dance of a geisha. May we show you our art, Feltsman-san?”

She looks at Yakov, who obviously could not care less about dancing geisha, but Viktor is quick to react.

“We would be delighted to see it,” he says, and Minako rises, just as elegantly as Chihoko. “Then I shall get my _shamisen_.”

Viktor has no idea what a _shamisen_ is, but he finds that he could not care less. He is looking at Chihoko, who has moved to the free space in the room and pulls out a pair of beautiful fans, similar to the ones he has seen in a shop window a few days ago. Viktor knows how expensive they are, and he cannot help but wonder if a geisha pays for all these things herself. How much money do they make per night?

Surely, not all of their kimono can be gifts from people like Tanaka.

He learns what a _shamisen_ is as Minako sits down with something that looks like a small guitar, but Viktor notes that it only has three strings. And then, the conversations end, Minako begins to play, and Chihoko begins to dance.

Viktor knows what it feels like to dance. Many times he has lost himself in music and harmony, has moved his body and hoped to escape the pain he felt in his heart. Pain, he knows, is easy to portray, but to turn pain into art is an art in itself that only very few people ever master. Viktor does not know what the dance is supposed to tell them, if it has a name or a theme, but as he watches Chihoko dance, he feels the sadness creep into his heart, and he knows that Chihoko, the shining star of Gion, can feel it too. It is Chihoko’s sadness, Chihoko’s pain, and Viktor feels incredibly hopeless and lost.

For a split second, their eyes meet, and Viktor is certain that he has not been mistaken. Before him dances the boy from the rain, the boy whose sad eyes had overwhelmed him so many years ago, and whose eyes he had never been able to forget. Chihoko is for whom he had longed at night. He is right there, in front of him, and Viktor must not act on what he feels.

The sadness inside him makes his heart ache, but he does not want Chihoko to stop dancing. What blessing and torture it would be to watch him forever, to never be freed from his grasp.

Either way, what bliss.

The applause brings him back to reality, and Viktor realises that the dance has ended and Chihoko is bowing. He begins to clap as well, and can even hear Yakov applaud beside him, too. It seems that not even the old man is immune to such beauty and purity.

“Wonderful!” Tanaka exclaims as Chihoko returns to sit beside them, and Viktor’s heart skips a beat as the geisha sits right next to him.

He is so close that Viktor can see right through the mask of his painted face.

“Was that not a breathtaking performance?” Tanaka asks, and Viktor quickly clears his throat.

“I-Indeed,” he says. “I have never seen anything like it.”

Chihoko bows his head. “Thank you, Nikiforov-san,” he says, and Viktor knows it then and there. That he will die of a heart attack within the next few minutes if Chihoko remains so close, and yet so far out of reach.

Chihoko does not spare him the pain. Instead, he reaches for the small bottle of sake before them and pours Viktor a glass. His wrist stays covered.

“Do you know about dancing, Nikiforov-san?” He asks, and Viktor feels his mouth go dry the moment Chihoko looks at him with his large, brown eyes.

“I told Chihoko that you used to dance,” Tanaka explains casually, sipping his own drink that Minako has brought over to him.

“N-Not like this, though,” Viktor explains quickly as Chihoko keeps looking at him expectantly. “I was trained in ballet a little by my aunt, but I never danced like you.”

“Ballet,” Chihoko repeats, and his eyes begin to shine. “I do love ballet. I have a record of one.”

“Really?” Viktor squeaks, and is immediately embarrassed at how high his voice suddenly sounds. But Chihoko seems to either not notice or simply ignore it. Viktor suspects the latter.

The geisha nods. “Tchaikovsky,” he says. “I like to listen to it when I rest.”

“A Russian composer,” Minako remarks. “What a coincidence. Is he very famous in Russia?”

“Very much so,” Viktor says without looking at her, for he has only eyes for Chihoko. Chihoko, who is looking at him so very differently now, his eyes sparkling and full of life, the sadness of the dance completely gone. “I… I like Tchaikovsky, too.”

Chihoko smiles, and it sets Viktor’s heart on fire.

Tanaka laughs. “No man is immune to Chihoko’s charms, my dear Nikiforov-san!” He says with a chuckle and, now that he’s had a little alcohol, pats Viktor’s back. “Truly, our Chihoko is a learned geisha. You will find that one can speak to him about absolutely everything. Music and dance are only two of his many fields of expertise. Minako taught him well!”

Minako chuckles. “Chihoko was a diligent student,” she says. “But he mostly taught himself.”

“And that makes him the jewel of Gion,” Tanaka said. “He had the main role in the last dances. Everyone was trying to get tickets, but only a handful were lucky. I had the pleasure to have a seat in the front row. That night I dreamt of autumn leaves on a white ground. You see, I draw a lot of inspiration from Chihoko. He is a work of art himself, and rightfully the most successful geisha in Gion.”

“You are too kind,” Chihoko says and bows his head again, his small, feminine hands clasped on his lap. They are just as pale as his face, Viktor notes. And although they seem fragile at the first glance, Viktor knows that they are strong. That Chihoko only seems delicate.

What an enigma Chihoko is.

“Only stating the truth,” Tanaka says, and there it is again, the tenderness in Tanaka’s voice that makes Viktor’s blood boil. “Say, Feltsman-san, what is considered usual evening entertainment in Russia?”

Tanaka does not address Viktor again that evening, focusing entirely on Yakov who, as Viktor knows, is probably relieved that he does not have to make polite conversation with a geisha. Minako has left their side already and is entertaining Tanaka’s men by playing a game with them that Viktor does not understand. But beside him is Chihoko, and in his presence, Viktor feels very warm.

“Do you not like sake?” Chihoko asks, and Viktor realises that he has not touched the glass that the geisha has poured him. The omega looks concerned, almost worried, even.

“Oh! I don’t—I mean, I try not to drink too much alcohol,” Viktor explains, feeling a little breathless as the geisha looks at him. But then, he sees the sympathy in Chihoko’s eyes, and the guilt he has felt for not drinking falls off him.

“I must not drink much,” Chihoko says quietly, as if letting Viktor in on a secret. “I do not take alcohol well. That is my Kyushu blood.”

Viktor knows little about Japan, but he knows what Kyushu is. “So you are not from Kyoto?”

Chihoko shakes his head, not looking at him, reaching for the teapot instead. “I was not born here,” he says and reaches for an empty tea cup. Viktor watches as the geisha lifts the teapot and holds it just above the cup, carefully pouring the steaming tea into the delicate porcelain. “Where were you born?”

Viktor does not miss that Chihoko is skilfully changing the subject and drawing the attention away from himself. And so, he does not ask further.

“In St. Petersburg,” he replies, taking the cup as Chihoko pushes it towards him. The tea smells heavenly. “That is a city in the west of Russia.”

“Is it big?” Chihoko asks, once again clasping his hands on his lap.

“Very,” Viktor nods. “Bigger than Kyoto. And very cold in winter.”

Chihoko smiles at that. “I like winter.”

“So do I,” Viktor says and smiles back.

For just this moment, it feels as if there are just the two of them in the room. Only Chihoko’s smile. Only Chihoko’s eyes.

Viktor wants to ask if Chihoko remembers the rain. But he holds back, for this is neither the right time nor the right place. Perhaps Chihoko does not even care. Perhaps he does not remember as well as Viktor, although he is sure that Chihoko thinks of it when he looks at him, too. That they know each other, but are strangers nonetheless.

“Now look at the time,” Chihoko says, just loud enough for Minako to hear him. “Time passes so fast when one enjoys the night.”

Viktor understands immediately that their time has come to an end, and his suspicions are confirmed when Tanaka rises, too. “The loveliest company makes a man forget all worries of the day,” he says to Viktor as the two geisha bow to them all and thank them for their time. In return, Tanaka’s men bow, and Viktor sees how many of them are blushing, eager to leave a good impression on the geisha.

How powerful they truly are Viktor does not understand, but he has his suspicions.

“I hope we will meet again, Feltsman-san,” Minako says and bows to Yakov, who hums in return. More they will not get from him. “And you too, Nikiforov-san.”

Viktor bows the way he has been taught and gives the woman a smile. “It was a pleasure,” he says. Then, he looks at Chihoko. The omega is looking at him from behind the painted face that is his mask.

There is more, Viktor feels it, but it is not his to discover.

And then, the geisha leave, on their backs the eyes of the men they have entertained. They leave behind wistful sighs, unspoken fantasies, and unfulfilled desires.

The uncertainty that Viktor has carried with him for so many years is gone.

It has been replaced with hope, and feelings he does not understand.

* * *

Viktor sleeps very little the following nights.

His days are filled with preparations. Yakov is going back to Russia, now that the contract has been signed. The ink is dry, and with it starts Viktor’s new life as Yakov’s representative in Kyoto. He knows he should be focusing on that alone, try to make Yakov proud and prove himself to be a worthy heir. Instead, his thoughts are occupied with a painted face, and eyes he would gladly die for.

If Yakov notices, he does not let it show. Instead, he gives Viktor endless orders that the young alpha tries to remember as best as possible. Sooner or later, he would have to carry a notebook with him. But Yakov is about to leave, and his advice is mainly about business, and Viktor knows it all. He has been raised within the trade, and knows its ways by heart.

Of course, Yakov is not satisfied with anything he’s capable of. He never fails to remind Viktor of that, not even as they stand at port where in a few minutes, Yakov’s ship will depart and bring him back to China. From there, he will fly to Russia, and Viktor will be on his own.

“Are you listening to me, Vitya?” Yakov barks as a skinny young man tries to heave Yakov’s luggage onto the ship. Viktor feels sorry for him, but knows by now that he should not interfere.

“I am,” he says, and he really is. He has managed to not think of Chihoko so far on the way to the port, but it is hard. Whenever he sees someone in a beautiful kimono, his heart skips a beat, for it thinks it might be Chihoko. Every time, his heart is mistaken. “I will telephone you weekly.”

“Good,” Yakov huffs and checks the time. He is one of the last people to board the ship, and the time to say goodbye has come. Only then, it begins to feel real. He will be alone in Japan. In a country whose language he does not speak. As the representative of his uncle.

Viktor is sure that this is madness.

It has to be.

“Don’t belittle yourself,” Yakov says, as if he is reading his nephew’s mind. “I would not have chosen you if I did not think you capable.”

Viktor sighs. “I… I will do my best, uncle,” he says. “It just feels like… a lot.”

“It is a lot,” Yakov says with a frown. “But you can do it. Tanaka likes you. And you’ve got this…” Yakov gestures with his hand. “What’s his name, the Swiss one.”

“Christophe.”

“That one. He’ll teach you the ways of the people here.” Yakov sighs. “At least he is not a trader. A doctor is perhaps the wisest choice of a friend you have made so far. Especially under such circumstances.”

“That sounded a lot different a while ago,” Viktor grins, and Yakov glares at him.

“I still mean what I said!” He barks, startling the young sailors around them. “Be wary! Keep your eyes and ears open! And I swear to God, Vitya, keep your hands to yourself! I do not want you to come home to Russia with a child born out of wedlock that you’re responsible for!”

Viktor chuckles and raises his hands in defence. “I won’t, I promise,” he says, but Yakov shakes his head and turns away to walk up the plank to the ship. “What, no hug?” Viktor cries in protest and follows his uncle up the plank, hugging him so tight that they almost fall into the water.

“Jesus Christ,” Yakov mutters, but he hugs Viktor back for a moment. More Viktor does not need from the man that is both uncle and father to him, and he steps back down onto the pier, clasping his hands behind his back as he watches Yakov disappear.

The ship leaves Japan in the best weather, and Viktor has to bring his hand up to his forehead to shield his eyes from the sunlight. He can hear Yakov yell at him from the deck, probably some last words of advice mixed with threats, but Viktor just keeps smiling. And then, Yakov is out of sight, the ship too far away for Viktor to see his uncle, and he is alone.

Alone in Japan.

The thought is overwhelming, and Viktor cannot help but shiver.

He leaves the port and stands at a crossing, not sure where to go next. A note with his address sits in his breast pocket, and he always shows it to the drivers of the rickshaws in order to get home. But Viktor is not in the mood to get home, not yet. He feels the urge to take a walk, to take in Kyoto as a resident. After all, that is what he is now. Not a tourist, but a resident. He lives here. Has to build a life here.

It is the most exciting and the most foolish thing he has ever done.

Viktor giggles to himself, causing the people around him to give him curious looks, but he finds he does not care. He crosses the street and dives into the bustling life of Kyoto, the sun caressing his face as he walks.

It has taken him a while to get used to the rhythm of the place, for Kyoto is, like every town, a microcosm of its own. It has its own spirit, its own ways, and unspoken rules that one that is new could never possibly foresee. Of course, Viktor is still very much a stranger and oblivious to most things, but he has learnt a few things by now. For example, not to stand or walk in the middle of the road, but at the sides. He knows not to shake hands, but to merely bow, and that a shopkeeper will always bow lower than he does. When children come running towards him, they will not pull money out of his pockets but will try to touch his hair. Of course, Viktor will let them, and sometimes he will give them a few yen. It has resulted in a rather good reputation in the neighbourhood where his rooms are. And he knows that when his landlady calls him ‘Vitya-chan’, she is not flirting with him but trying to be nice – and at the same time acknowledging that he indeed is sometimes as helpless as a child. Hence, the lovely honorific.

Other things he will most likely never understand. There are so many things that the Japanese do that don’t make sense to him, and probably never will – if he can trust Christophe Giacometti on this. But he is a foreigner, and he is allowed to make mistakes. That is what the geisha, Minako, has said to him, and it has proven to be true ever since.

Thinking of Minako always leads to thinking of Chihoko, and to an aching heart. Viktor does not want it, but he cannot help it. The ache is there, a longing he cannot satisfy. He would not even know where to start looking. And he is sure that it would not end well if he were to search for him. Yes, Viktor knows little about geisha, but even he knows that their world is very much separate from his own. That he will never, ever, have access to it.

The name _hanamachi_ translates to ‘town of flowers’, and Viktor thinks it is a lovely way to describe an area of the city dedicated to beauty, purity, and perfection. Nothing less has he felt in the company of Chihoko, has seen how extraordinary he is. It is an unusual trade, that Viktor has to admit, and so very different from what he is used to. He can understand the foreigners and their misconception that geisha might be prostitutes, but he can also understand why the Japanese take offense at such a claim. After all, there is nothing sexual about what Chihoko and Minako do. They enchant their customers, yes, but in ways so much purer.

To think that someone might call Chihoko a prostitute.

The mere thought makes Viktor angry.

He turns around the corner at the end of the street, which gives way to a beautiful spot of Kyoto. Through its midst runs a small river with the most adorable bridges that tell stories of times long bygone. It is easy to imagine the splendour and grandeur of the past in this area, with its traditional buildings, the elegant bridges, and the trees lining the water that fills Kyoto with life. There are people everywhere, minding their own business. Men, women, a few children, the latter running around like all children do, squealing and chasing after each other.

By the river, there is a bench, and Viktor sits down.

He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths before he opens them again and looks around. He looks, and looks, in awe of the place that is to be his home for now, and he knows he has made the right decision.

He lets his gaze wander, and a figure on the other side of the river catches his eye, which sends shivers down his spine.

A young man stands in front of the large gates that lead to what Viktor suspects is a public building, either an office or school or something else of the sort. He stands tall, his back straight in perfect posture, clad in a pale, violet kimono with a cream _obi_ that fits him perfectly. That alone tells Viktor that the man is not a worker, but of higher social standing. His dark hair is bound together in his nape, keeping it out of the way whilst framing his face at the same time. He looks ahead, at the gates, as if he were waiting for something, occasionally smiling and lightly bowing in greeting to the people that walk past him and apparently know him.

Viktor immediately knows that he is looking at Chihoko.

He wears no make-up, no white mask and painted lips to conceal his face, which should have made it harder to recognise him. But Viktor has memorised the line of his nose, the contour of his jaw. He cannot see his eyes from so far away, but he knows they are brown, and that he would drown in them if he were any closer to him.

Chihoko is right there, across the bridge, standing in the sunlight, and all that Viktor has to do is to reach him.

He rises from the bench and starts walking, just as the gates on the other side of the river open. To Viktor’s surprise, children suddenly swarm the square, all of them girls in yukata of a checked black and white pattern, their hair neatly pulled back and simple shoes on their feet. One of the girls runs towards Chihoko, and Viktor pauses to watch. Chihoko smiles, reaching out to adjust the girl’s yukata as they exchange a few words, and then begin walking, away from the bridge, into the streets of the _hanamachi_.

Viktor should know better.

But he follows them, his eyes fixed on Chihoko’s back in the distance.

He has never been to this part of Kyoto before – not that it would be forbidden. But the _hanamachi_ is a place where one goes at night, to the tea houses. During the day, it is the realm of the people that live and work there. Shopkeepers, fan makers, kimono merchants, hair dressers.

Geisha.

No one truly bats an eye at Viktor’s presence, most likely because of all people in Kyoto, the inhabitants of Gion – because that is where he is, Viktor realises – are used to all sorts of people, and foreigners are no exception. Viktor is grateful that there are no people to stop him and marvel at him and his hair, which he has begun to curse more and more since coming to Kyoto. Chihoko is who he focuses on, following him through the narrow streets of Gion without an actual plan.

Chihoko and the little girl are talking, and Viktor wishes he spoke Japanese better than just the usual phrases that every foreigner knows. The girl looks excited, clutching something that seems like an instrument wrapped into a cloth close to her chest as she walks beside the famous geisha and talks, talks, talks. Chihoko listens attentively, occasionally speaking in return, and although Viktor can barely hear his voice over the noise of the city, he is enchanted.

Outside a shop, the pair suddenly stops, and Viktor freezes. Chihoko then takes what the girl is carrying and gestures at the shop’s entrance. The girl nods and skips off, disappearing into the shop.

Chihoko remains outside, moving a little to the side, looking up at the sky. He closes his eyes, as if to enjoy the warmth of the sun on his face.

Viktor had not known it was possible to be jealous of the sun, who is kissing Chihoko’s face.

But he pushes the thought aside, and braces himself for what he is about to do. For this is probably his only chance to speak to him, perhaps the only time he will see him again. He forces his feet to move, to bring him closer to Chihoko, and as he has almost reached him, Viktor feels his mouth become dry, and he is at a loss for words.

Chihoko is so, so close.

He stands beside him, and does not know what to say.

Viktor opens his mouth, and he is amazed that the words come out nonetheless, not as brave as he wanted them to be, but they are there, and to more he is not capable.

“Chihoko?”

The geisha opens his eyes – the eyes that Viktor has never been able to forget, and in them, Viktor finds both amazement and insecurity. Neither of them are prepared for this moment, but Chihoko is so much better than keeping posture than Viktor is. The surprise flashes across the omega’s face for merely a split second before his face softens, his expression a polite mask.

“You should not be here, Nikiforov-san,” Chihoko says, his voice soft as he speaks, and Viktor wants to drown in it. His gaze flickers to the shop into which he has sent his young companion.

“I know,” Viktor says and swallows thickly.

“Then you should go,” Chihoko says, averting his gaze. “I cannot do anything for you.”

“I’m not here for that,” Viktor says quickly, and steps closer. Chihoko does not move. “I… Did you not… not recognise me?”

He can almost see Chihoko shiver, how he straightens his shoulders almost unnoticeably and lifts his head. And then, Chihoko looks at him, just for a moment, and Viktor sees the confirmation in his eyes.

“You do remember.”

“I do,” Chihoko murmurs.

Viktor’s heart beats faster. “All those years, I have never been able to forget you,” he breathes. “This must mean something!”

Before Chihoko can reply, the girl returns, clutching a small package to her chest. At Viktor’s sight, she freezes, staring at his face and then at his hair, her eyes wide in awe.

Chihoko is quick to react. He takes the package from her and says a few words, patting her little hand in which she still holds a few coins. At that, the girl looks away from Viktor and her face lights up, chirping a happy “Arigato gozaimasu!” before she runs off down the street to what Viktor recognises is a man with a cart that sells shaved ice with plums.

Chihoko has bought them more time.

“Even if it means something,” the geisha says, and Viktor shivers. “It cannot be.”

Viktor blinks. “I don’t understand,” he says.

“It must not be,” Chihoko corrects himself, looking fully at him this time. “As much as I wish that there were the possibility, it is out of the question. I have been as surprised and delighted as you have been by our meeting. But this is all that there is. Please do not get any ideas, Nikiforov-san.”

“Viktor,” Viktor says hoarsely. “My name is Viktor.”

Chihoko studies him hesitantly, as if feeling the urge to try the name on his tongue. But he does not say it.

“You can feel it, too, can’t you?” Viktor asks, quietly this time, not wanting anyone else to hear although it is unlikely.

Chihoko looks over his shoulder, and Viktor sees the girl coming back, a cone with shaved ice in her hand.

“It does not matter,” Chihoko murmurs. “What I feel does not matter.”

And then, the girl is back, and Chihoko takes her free hand before bowing to Viktor. “Goodbye, Nikiforov-san.”

And Viktor has to watch as Chihoko walks away. The little girl turns her head, looking at Viktor over her shoulder, but looks away as Chihoko tugs on her hand.

With that, they disappear into the crowd.

* * *

Yuuri struggles to keep his posture.

It does not help that little Keiko barely shuts up about the foreigner she has seen, marvelling at the colour of his hair and eyes even now, in the road of their okiya, but Yuuri has not the heart to tell her off. She is not doing anything wrong.

But oh, he wishes that none of this had ever happened.

For as of now, his heart is upset, and it aches inside him.

Of course, he can feel it, too. The emotion that Nikiforov-san has described.

Viktor.

They have reached the gates of the okiya, but just as they are about to go inside, Yuuri holds Keiko back.

“Keiko,” he says, “do not tell Mother or Aunty, or Grandmother, that I have been speaking with the foreign gentleman.”

Keiko blinks, looking at him in confusion.

“They would only worry,” Yuuri explains, and he hates lying to her, but what else is he to tell a girl of her age. “Do you understand?”

Keiko nods, for she is a smart girl, and has never disobeyed Yuuri’s orders. Especially not after receiving a sweet treat, like her shaved ice.

Together, they enter the okiya and take off their shoes. Keiko runs off to eat the rest of her ice, and Yuuri goes to see Minako. She wears her reading glasses as she studies the newspaper, briefly looking up at Yuuri as he enters.

“Grandmother has been a pain this morning,” she mutters. “She keeps calling for me. As if I were her servant!” She shakes her head in disbelief. “How was Keiko’s day at school?”

“She’s been cast as one of the dancers in the upcoming festival,” Yuuri says and sits down to pour them tea.

“Huh. Look at that.” Minako is impressed. “She’s getting cast right away, just like you. Seems like we have got quite the talented little girl there.”

“She will be a great maiko, and an excellent geisha if she keeps working hard,” Yuuri says, and Minako folds the newspaper, putting it aside.

“No tea for me, thank you,” she says and rises, stretching her ‘old bones’, as she calls them, before going to the door. “There is an article about Tanaka in the paper, by the way. About his collaboration with Feltsman and Nikiforov.”

She leaves the room and Yuuri reaches for the paper before he can even stop himself. He completely forgets his tea and takes the paper with him to his room, searching for the article Minako has mentioned.

He finds it on page three, at the bottom.

There is a photograph, too.

Tanaka, shaking the hand of the ever angry-looking Yakov Feltsman, smiling into the camera.

Beside Feltsman stands Viktor Nikiforov. He is impeccably dressed, his hair perfectly combed, a fringe falling over his eye.

Yuuri looks at the photograph for a long time.

He takes a scissor and cuts out the photograph, folding it so that it only shows the man on the far right, only Viktor Nikiforov, and no one else.

He looks at it a little longer.

Only as he hears the footsteps of Grandmother, he puts it away, and locks it into his jewellery box, and turns the key around.

**Author's Note:**

> Scream with me on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/myangryuniverse)


End file.
